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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29826309">Lessons Learned</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/millennialfalcon/pseuds/millennialfalcon'>millennialfalcon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, EXTREMELY self-indulgent, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Inexperienced Reader, [from the back of the room] i would just like boba to be nice to me sometimes, also some alien ocs bc i can't write w/o at least some plot, fem!reader - Freeform, i still don't know how mechanics star wars or otherwise work and i'm not about to learn, mr fett knows just what u need if u know what im saying, service top Boba Fett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 20:33:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,661</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29826309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/millennialfalcon/pseuds/millennialfalcon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>despite the risks, being the newest mechanic for tatoonie’s biggest crime boss is much better than uneventful life in bestine. but while your experience in fixing speeders and starships have brought you here, you find yourself lacking in more intimate experiences – something you desperately crave. the boss offers to teach you a thing or two.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Boba Fett/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>343</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Welcome to Class</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i’ve looked at this for too long and i’m so tired so i’m gonna make you all look at it now. service top boba part 1/???. extremely self-indulgent. this goes out to all you boba hoes/whores/simps/stans. solidarity forever comrades 😌✊ this fic is partly brought to you by <a href="https://delusionsxfgrandeur.tumblr.com/post/643775490518401024/listen-i-respect-your-daddy-kinks-and-your">this post</a> and <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1b173vNqIzeczZRtqhkfN7?si=STLCyiD7SByS1UNR6EK_Hg">this song</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s an unusually cool day on Tatooine. The short rainy season is just around the corner and soon a torrential downpour will fill the gullies and valleys of the dunes with a flash flood. Oases and watering holes will pop up for a few rotations, drawing crowds of sentients and fauna alike from miles away, until the sand and arid climate sucks up the moisture nearly overnight, the whole ordeal but a parched man’s dream. You’d been through the cycle enough times to feel the change of the weather in your joints.</p><p>You’re thankful for the mild temperature as you slide under the landspeeder yet again, your hands stained with oil, grease and dirt under your nails. The coolant line is being stubborn, refusing to unscrew in your deft hands no matter how hard you twist. You think you must know the guts of this speeder model better than you know yourself, and if only you could get the coolant line off, you could change the faulty motivator without having to take the whole engine apart. A stray hair tickles your face. Your brows pull together in irritation. You reach to swipe the tickle away, and it’s not until the back of your hand moves over your forehead that you feel the slick of oil smearing on your skin.</p><p>Typical day on the job.</p><p>But it’s a <em>job</em>, a real one, one that pays well enough and even offers room and board. You get to stay out of the suns most days, though the heat usually still radiates inside the large, open hangar. And you get to work with your hands, something you were <em>good at </em>and <em>loved</em>, and on vehicles and starships you’d never see the likes of back home. What those ships were used for might be less than savory, but Fennec was very specific about the terms of your employment when you’d rigged the attacking bandits’ speeder bike and essentially saved both your skins out near Anchorhead: don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.</p><p>But you’re fine working for people who others might consider uncouth. You have a bed of your own, some credits to your name, and get to peek at folks from all across the galaxy. The gossip that travels with them is just icing on the proverbial cake, and you and your coworkers dip your fingers into all you can get.</p><p>“— And he walked up to me and said, like <em>actually</em> said <em>to my face</em>, that I’m not worth his time. <em>Me</em>. Not worth <em><b>his</b></em> time.” Kes’s voice echoes throughout the hangar, the Rodian boisterous in her incredulity. She scoffs, and there’s a <em><b>zap</b></em> as she welds another wire on the circuit board on which she works. “I almost told him he better be happy I don’t let slip to his associates about his little spice running side hustle. Probably wouldn’t be thrilled with his double dipping.” You can practically hear her antennae quirk in annoyance.</p><p>You slide out from under the speeder and reach into the tool bag next to your knee. “Maybe he was just busy,” you offer, hands scrambling for another tool.</p><p>“No one is too busy for me,” Kes replies easily, and she zaps another circuit, the spark reflecting in the dark goggles that cover her large, watery eyes.</p><p>You laugh and roll back under the speeder to try at the gasket again.</p><p>Another voice calls from the back of the room, strong and solid. “You’re the one who’s too busy to get busy, Kes.” Dendi shouts from somewhere, a laugh caught in their tone. From your view, you can just make out the toes of their boots as they walk toward you, sure footfalls of someone holding the responsibility of others’ work. Then you see their worn face, golden, patterned lekku falling around them to brush against the dusty floor. They give you a half smile. “How’s it going down there?”</p><p>You sigh and give the line another tug. “Not great,” you answer. “This thing won’t budge.”</p><p>They hmph, eyes narrow. “Here, try this.” They roll something under the speeder and you catch it easily – the bottle of expensive viscous oil, inky and sloshing in the confines of the glass. You smile your thanks and reposition yourself so you can paint the thick substance over the seal of the coolant line. </p><p>It’s silent for a few moments, save for clanks of pit droids and the occasional zapping of Kes’s welding. It smells of engine grease and smoke and steel, but there’s a comfort there, something that reminds you that you <em>chose</em> this, and that you're <em>good</em> at it.</p><p>Kes breaks the silence, as usual. “He was hot, too,” she says to no one. Then, thoughtfully, “I always liked Nautolans.”</p><p>Her chair squeaks as she wheels it away from her workstation. “Man, I was with this Nautolan one time, he was a dream – gorgeous midnight blue, tendrils wrapping around his shoulders.” Her voice is wistful, light, and you watch her feet push against the floor and spin her around in the chair. “He knew exactly what he was doing. I thought I lost my mind by the time he was done.”</p><p>Dendi hums in acknowledgment. “Sounds like this girl in Mos Espa I know.” You watch their shoes stop next to the wheels of Kes’s chair. “She’s something else.”</p><p>“Girl? What girl?” Kes doesn’t try to hide her eagerness, her own feet halting her mid-spin. “You didn’t tell me there’s a girl.”</p><p>“I don’t tell you everything. I’m your boss, we have to keep a line of professional separation between us.”</p><p>“Bantha shit.”</p><p>You smile, face hidden from view. You enjoyed their banter, no matter the subject. Two weeks on the job and you’re still trying to find your feet under you, plunged into the fringes of the semi-legal but mostly very much not legal world of bounty hunters and criminals and smugglers. There are things you can’t hear, doors you’re not allowed to open, secrets that would threaten your life if you knew them. But here in the hangar, floor perpetually covered in sand with piles gathered in the corners, the constant chatter between your boss and your coworker makes life feel relatively normal. As the youngest of the group, you’re content just to listen and glean what you can about their respective lives and the lives of those around you. </p><p>Dendi having a girl in Mos Espa is new information that you file away. They speak again, and you see one of their boots kick out as they cock their hip. “Yes, there’s a girl in Mos Espa. And every time I get to visit, she changes my damn life.”</p><p>Kes squeals and you hear her hand playfully slap Dendi’s arm. “You naughty Twi’! That was my Nautolan. Stars, I still dream about him.”</p><p>They laugh, and you wish you could laugh with them in relation. There’s a yearning there, something deep inside that you mostly ignore but it still buzzes in your ear.</p><p>As if your thoughts are audible, Kes kicks at your boot. “What about you, kid?” she asks, a chuckle caught at the end of her question. “Who’s the best you’ve ever had?”</p><p>Your throat tightens and your tongue suddenly feels heavy in your mouth. You wish you could crawl all the way under the speeder and disappear – at least this way, you think, your hot face is concealed from their view. “I, uhh…” You know, logically, this is nothing to be embarrassed about, but Kes and Dendi are a certain level of intimidating – older, and worldly know-how evident in the way they hold themselves, in the cracks and scars on their hands. You don’t want to seem <em>childish</em>. You clear your throat and busy your hands with your work. Striving for nonchalance, you think your voice airs on the side of timid instead. “Well, I’ve only ever…<em>done it</em>…once.”</p><p>Kes’s head is in your view in record time, her lovely emerald skin shadowed in the low light, goggled set up on her forehead, huge, dark eyes twinkling with what looks like a galaxy of stars. She’s bent over herself in her seat to gaze at you under the speeder, a single brow quirked. Her snout forms a small <em>o</em>. “Wait, really?” Her body jolts with the force of a shove from Dendi, and the older Twi’lek grumbles something above her. “Not that that’s bad,” she rushes out, her eyes wide, expression open. “I’m just surprised. I mean…” Though she lacks pupils, you can still tell her eyes are searching your face for her next words. “You’re so pretty. And nice.”</p><p>The grimace is involuntary. “Thanks.”</p><p>“No, really,” she insists with a nod, and it looks funny with her head nearly upside down. Her antennae sway with the movement. Her mouth opens, and closes, and then, “Was it any good, at least?”</p><p>You blink, not quite sure how to answer, but heat swells in your cheeks and you know she sees. “It was —“ You stop yourself and try again. “It was like, a year ago and he was basically my neighbor and neither of us knew what we were doing.” The explanation limps from your mouth like it’s wounded, lame.</p><p>“So that’s a no, then.” </p><p>You scoff and roll your eyes, a bitter taste against your tongue. You feel the need to defend yourself against her banal tone. “I guess I wouldn’t know. I don’t really have anything to compare it to, do I?”</p><p>Her face softens at that. “That’s okay. It’ll happen for you. You’re a sweetie, anyone would be lucky to have you.”</p><p>Despite her kind words, a part of you cringes and you hope it doesn’t come across on your face. You feel the age gap between the two of you with the word “sweetie”, like you’re that scruffy-headed kid back in Bestine again and not a fully fledged adult earning your own wage. You smile at her anyway, trying your best to stop it from turning into a grimace.</p><p>She smiles back, something akin to pity in her sparkling eyes, and her face is gone from view. </p><p>You hear Dendi say something under their breath before they walk to a transport that needs some tender love and care.</p><p>Kes’s chair squeaks and she spins it again. No one speaks for a few minutes and your focus resumes on the coolant line, the seal finally beginning to turn under your force and you sigh with relief. It’s a welcome distraction from the lingering embarrassment that runs over your skin.</p><p>“Okay, here’s a fun question,” Kes says into the open air of the hanger. You bite back the tang of annoyance, still sore from the perceived babying just prior. You hum in question anyway. “If you had one night to ‘do it’ with whoever you want, who would you choose?” she asks, using your phrase. “Anyone in the galaxy, you get your pick. Could be a celebrity, a senator – y’know, Mon Mothma is pretty cute.”</p><p>“Out of your league,” Dendi calls out.</p><p>Kes continues over their voice. “Or actually, I’ve kind of been eyeing Fennec.” </p><p>This time, there’s an edge to the Twi’lek’s tone. “Watch it.”</p><p>“What?” Kes asks innocently. “She’s hot. And dangerous. A lethal combination.” The harsh sound of her welding reignites. “Or actually, someone I’ve been thinking about is the boss.”</p><p>There’s a clank, and Dendi’s voice echoes in the cavernous space. “Sorry, but I’m a bit occupied.”</p><p>“Not you, laserbrain,” Kes shoots back, no bite in the insult. “I’m talking about the <em>boss</em> boss.”</p><p>Something in the air shifts, and it’s not the weather this time. A tingle begins to simmer within you and you fumble with the coolant line, grease-slicked hands slipping off the nut only for a second before finding purchase yet again. The implication of Kes’s suggestion is not lost on you, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, as well.</p><p>Boba Fett is a terrifying man. His reputation precedes him, the rumors and legends nearly bigger than the reality, but the first time you had laid eyes on his crisp armor and broad frame in the shadows of the throne room as Fennec ushered you up the stairs, you knew the tangible truth is the part that’s larger than life. The sands of Tatooine used to shift under the weight of Jabba the Hutt’s mighty fist, the quake of his power felt among the scattered moisture farms of Bestine when you were first learning to unscrew a bolt. But now, the twin suns bow with just the glint off the visor of Boba Fett.</p><p>Just because you lack experience doesn’t mean that heavy yearning deep in your core is absent. Something about the way he holds himself, how he commands a room with just a tilt of his head, the way he spreads himself over the throne like he’s belonged there all along…you can’t stop yourself from wondering what it’d be like to sit atop him there, what it’d be like to have his undivided attention in the same way everyone who crosses his path is drawn to him.</p><p>You’re brought out of your musings from Dendi’s stern voice, uncomfortably close. “Kes, you better watch it.” Her boots are back in your periphery as she stalks by to chastise the Rodian.</p><p>Kes is hardly put off. “Come on, it’s not like we all haven’t thought about it.” She kicks the sole of your shoe for a second time that night, and you jolt harder than you mean to. “What about it, kid? Would you pick him for your one night?”</p><p>This is dangerous territory, you know, but something in your gut compels you to play along with Kes’s little game. Maybe it’s the embarrassment still idling in your system or the harsh edge of want that is distracting you, but you want to prove yourself. You are not that scruffy-headed kid from Bestine anymore. You feign confidence as best you can, and articulate your words. “Yeah, sure. He seems to have a good command of his surroundings.”</p><p>Kes’s laugh ricochets throughout the hangar, mirth coating the steel walls and dancing off the hard surfaces of the vehicles stationed around you all. You can’t help the small grin that blooms on your face at the sound – a sound of companionship, inclusion. You’re smug and glowing under the speeder.</p><p>“I think we’ll keep you around, kid,” Kes says gleefully, and there’s another zap as she gets back to work. “Just think, our little gearhead and the kingpin. Match made in heaven.” You chuckle along with her and hear her inhale to speak again, but whatever she was about to say is cut off by the grumble of a low voice emanating from somewhere in the corner.</p><p>“Evening, crew.”</p><p>Your hands really do slip off the coolant line this time, not because you lose your grip but because the line finally gives free from the gasket and the metal end comes straight for your face. Instinctively, your hands reach to shield yourself, but in the second of chaos your brain foregoes the fact that you’re in a tight space and your knuckles hit the underside of the speeder hard just as the line collides with your forehead, fluid running down into your hair. “<em><b>Shit</b></em>.” The explicative leaves your mouth involuntarily.</p><p>“Boba,” Dendi says, surprise lacing the word. “What are you doing up here?”</p><p>“Can’t I check up on the status of my mechanics in my own palace?” The question is rhetorical, obviously, and though it may sound threatening there’s a lilt of playfulness buried there somewhere.</p><p>“Course you can,” Dendi replies. “It’s just not often we get the pleasure.”</p><p>Kes is awful quiet now, you notice, and you crane your neck to see her boots flat on the ground. You’re sure she’s sitting stalk straight in her chair.</p><p>Boba grumbles something that sounds like it could be a laugh. “Guess I’ll have to fix that.” He pauses, and there’s a jangle as he steps further into the space. “Hello.”</p><p>“Hi, boss,” Kes greets, quiet but still managing to keep her pleasant tone. She’s been here longer than you, over half a cycle, and it’s so easy to like her that you think she must get along fine with everyone. But there’s a hesitancy lining her tone, barely there but still present. “Targeting array is almost done,” she says, words speeding up as she talks. “I’m just putting the finishing touches on it now – once I’m done with it you’ll be able to shoot down anything smaller than a shuttle transport like it’s nothing.” One of her shoes lifts up to cross over the other. “I’ve added some of my <em>personal</em> modifications. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”</p><p>Boba hums as his boots step into your view. You can only see up to his ankles from your position under the landspeeder, his black robe brushing over the top of his heavy boots. “Good girl.”</p><p>A tremor runs up your spine before you can stop it. You’re mortified and oh so thankful that the top half of your body is covered by this hunk of metal hovering above you. He didn’t even direct the comment to you. <em>Pathetic</em>.</p><p>“What about the speeder,” he asks, and you don’t even register he’s asking about <em>this</em> speeder, the one you’re currently buried underneath, tangled in its guts like you’re searching for the still-beating heart of an animal. </p><p>“Kid, you got an update?” It’s not until Dendi’s voice works its way to your ears that you scramble out from under the vehicle, your eyes adjusting to the harsh golden light of the setting suns that streams in from the open mouth of the hangar. Once you can see clearly again, your eyeline is level with Boba Fett’s knees, and you have to crane your neck to look up at him.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Stars, he’s big.</em> </b>
</p><p>You blink up at his helmet. “It’s almost done,” you offer like a measly offering. Your eyes flick to Dendi who’s standing a few paces behind him, and they give you a quirk of their brow. You fish for a better explanation. You’re surprised at the ease at which the gear-speak comes to you in the moment. “There was some bad carbon scoring on the sides and the steering controls were shot, but I fixed those already. I’m working on getting the motivator out now to rewire it. Then I just need to get the debris out of the exhaust vents. I’ll be done by the end of the night.”</p><p>“The motivator?” Boba tilts his head in question. “How’re you removing the motivator without taking the whole engine apart?”</p><p>“I’m getting it out through the coolant line input.”</p><p>Boba hums again, low in his chest, and you think you’ll never tire of the sound. “Interesting tactic,” he says down to you, and you preen at the praise. One side of your mouth quirks up. Then, in a matter-of-fact voice: “You’re bleeding.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re bleeding,” he repeats, and motions to his helmet above his dark visor. “On your forehead.”</p><p>Your hand mimics his motion to graze your fingers over your hairline and you hiss at the contact. Sure enough, your fingertips are coated in dark red blood when you bring them back to your face. “Oh.”</p><p>“You should get that cleaned up. I don’t need blood on my speeder.” He motions to Kes, who you finally notice is watching the interaction with rapt attention. Boba turns on his heel before she helps you up, and he’s stalking toward the stairway in step with Dendi.</p><p>You’re dazed. You know head wounds bleed more than others, but your mind isn’t jumbled because of blood loss. Kes pulls you up from the ground and walks you to the medkit in the back of the room with an arm around your shoulder. “Well,” she begins under her breath as she dabs bacta over the split skin. “That was kinda weird.”</p><p>You can’t help but agree.</p>
<hr/><p>Your timeline was near perfect – you have the speeder good as new just as the twin suns set below the horizon. You pack your tools into your bag and sling it over your shoulder. Another day's work is done. And you’re more than ready for the fresher, oil and sweat and coolant fluid covering your body in a grimy sheen. The cut on your forehead is patched up, thanks to Kes’s skilled hands.</p><p>The Rodian in question waves at you from the stairwell, her goggles loose around her neck. “I’ll see you in the mess, yeah?”</p><p>“Sure thing.” You wipe your hands on an already sullied rag. “Just let me get this shit off me. I feel like I’ve been dunked in engine grease.”</p><p>She laughs and it echoes back to you as she descends the stairs. You watch her until she’s out of sight.</p><p>Dendi waits for you at the exit, and they stop you with a hand to your shoulder before you can descend the stairs. “Hey,” they begin, voice soft in the twilight. “Don’t take Kes too seriously. She means well, she just doesn’t know when to stop sometimes.”</p><p>You offer them a small smile. “It’s not a big deal,” you say, half-honest. You’re still a bit sore from the conversation of your lack of experience, but your encounter with Boba has overshadowed it.</p><p>Dendi gazes at you for a second longer, eyes narrowing as they search your face for q lie. “Okay,” they finally concede, and draw out the vowels. “You’re a good worker, kid.”  Their hand releases your shoulder and you take two steps before they reach for you again. “Oh, also, the boss wants to see you.”</p><p>Your gut tightens, but only for a moment as you force yourself to relax. “Okay. Where’s Fennec’s office again?”</p><p>“Not Fennec,” Dendi replies easily, like it’s a shipment of spice she’s talking about. “The big boss. Boba.”</p><p>You try to swallow the lump that has suddenly appeared in your throat. Your face grows hot and you’re thankful to be facing away from the perceptive Twi’. Something burns in your core. “<em>Oh.</em>”</p><p>Dendi’s not paying attention to you as she shuts off the hangar lights. “Yeah, he said something about wanting to check in with you on that speeder you finished. You know where his quarters are?”</p><p>You’re very aware of Dendi’s presence behind you, and you force yourself to take a step down the staircase, and then another, and another until you’re walking down the spiral. “No, I don’t think so.”</p><p>Dendi’s footfall are in time with yours, only two steps behind you. “No worries, it’s easy to find. You’re going to go past the gally to the right, and then —“</p><p>You’re concentrating so hard on putting one foot in front of the other as Dendi gives you layman’s directions to Boba Fett’s personal quarters. You work on committing them to memory, but the idea of the man asking for your presence, to speak with you privately, to be in the same room as him, to be in his room…your thoughts are reeling as you reach the ground floor, and Dendi pats you on the back. But before the two of you part ways, they get a look at your face and you know it’s not as impassive as you’re trying to make it.</p><p>“Hey,” Dendi says quietly, rubbing a hand down your arm. “It’s fine. You’re not an associate or a bounty hunter or whatever. You’re his employee, and he has a few questions about your project, that’s all.” Their words don’t seem to have the comforting effect they wished, and they grab you by both shoulders until you’re facing them completely. “You don’t have to be scared of him.”</p><p>“I’m not,” you say. It’s mostly the truth, but there’s still something hidden there.</p><p>They grimace. “I’ve known Boba for a long time. He trusts me, and he trusts Fennec, and we both trust you. He takes care of those close to him.”</p><p>You can only hope they’re right.</p>
<hr/><p>You hope it’s the right door. <em>Kriff</em>, you hope it’s the right door.</p><p>You knock, twice, maybe too quietly you think, and then add a louder third rap haphazardly. Nerves tingle under your skin and you feel like you’re buzzing.</p><p>A deep voice from the other side. “Enter.”</p><p>You do, creaking open the door and stepping over the threshold. You’re in Boba Fett’s quarters, and he’s sitting at a desk, clad in full armor, pouring over some scattered datapads. He does not look up as you enter, and you close the door behind you with a soft click, standing there in the empty air, waiting for a sign or signal or anything from the man before you. Your eyes wander of their own accord, taking in the room around you.</p><p>You startle when he speaks. “Do you like your job?”</p><p>Your head whips to him and you find the visor of his helmet already facing you. Embarrassment tugs at your insides at getting caught ogling his private space. You swallow the thought and answer him. “Yes,” you say simply, before adding, “very much.”</p><p>He hums at that, and you can’t tell if that was the right answer or not, but you like how the sound hits you low in your gut. “You’re pretty good at it,” he says, voice filtered through his helmet, but still rumbling. “Fixed that land speeder right up. Better than it was before.”</p><p>Your spine straightens at the appraisal. Heat pools at your center with the praise. You try to ignore it. “Tha—“</p><p>He’s talking again before you can finish. “Where’re you from?”</p><p>Your brows furrow at the question, but you answer anyway. “Bestine.” The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.</p><p>“<em><b>Bestine</b></em>,” he repeats, the word more biting, harsher as it leaves his tongue. He stands from his desk and takes his time walking around the front until he’s leaning back against it, arms coming to cross over his chest. “Not much happening over in Bestine, is there?”</p><p>You eye him carefully, trying to decipher where he’s going with this. “No, not really.”</p><p>He hmphs this time in short agreement. The helmet tilts, minutely, and you get the distinct feeling that you’re being studied, eyed up and down, like Boba is working out how all your parts fit together. You’re painfully aware of the inky oil still greased on your skin and clothes in patches, the sand in your hair; you had not stopped for a quick jump in the fresher before making your way here, and you kick yourself for it. You must look a real mess. Despite it all, you strain to eye him back, but the heat of his unseen gaze proves too much and you settle for letting your eyes dance along the wall over his shoulder, or else at the dusty floor near your toes. You take a few moments to trace the outline of his armor, the green and brown and yellow muted in the low lighting.</p><p>He’s broad, and you know he’s strong, you’ve seen it – your second day on the job he threw someone across the throne room for “using a tone he didn’t appreciate”, as Kes described it. This armor stretches over his torso, his sturdy thighs, around his arms, capable of such strength and violence but right now simply resting, crossed over his wide chest. The lick to your lower lip is unintentional, organic, you don’t even know you’re doing it.</p><p>His low voice brings you out of your own head. “How’s your boy in Bestine these days?”</p><p>Your eyes laser to the t-shaped visor. <em>He had heard all that? Even the part about</em>… In no time you’re sputtering, face hot and flushed as realization floods over you like you’ve been dunked in ice cold water. “I – that’s not – he’s not <em>my boy</em> – how much did you —“</p><p>“You three aren’t exactly quiet,” he says over your stumbling words, a small dose of amusement tinging his speech. “And <em>you’re</em> not exactly <em>subtle.”</em></p><p>Your words die in your throat at how firm the statement is, how there’s no questioning lilt or room left for argument. Your feel as though your feet are magnetized to the floor, but that makes no sense considering the floors of the palace are almost entirely of dirt and dust and your boots aren’t magnetized at all, they’re your normal boots you put on this morning, and you think maybe nothing makes sense anymore, especially with the way Boba is stalking toward you now like you’re the bounty he’s been tracking this whole time and he’s finally snagged you and you pray he doesn’t notice the way your breathing’s picked up, the fast tempo at which your chest rises and falls, but you know it’s inevitable that he has, and now he’s reaching out to you and, and, <em>and </em>—</p><p>Boba’s gloved knuckles skim across the soft skin of your cheek, much more tame than you expected, the leather cool against your hot skin. Your eyes flutter open and you hadn’t realized you closed them in the first place. Your gaze is level with Boba’s chest, green armor the color of a rich and dense forest, or what you’d imagine one to be. All you’ve known your whole life is sand, dirt, browns and tans and dry earth crumbling beneath your hands, and right now your hands clench into fists at your sides, nails digging crescents into your palms. You think if his armor wasn’t painted matte, your breath would fog it with each exhale, he’s so close. Boba fills your whole field of view, wide and taller than you and radiating with a power you craved to know. You force your eyes to look up at him, his helmet already tilted down toward you, the black glass of his visor reflecting your own wide eyes and flaring nostrils. You swallow nothing but nerves and watch your reflection as your throat moves with the action.</p><p>“Do you like your job?” he asks, again, lower, quieter, the sound resonating deep within you. His gloved fingers graze the batca patch near your hairline.</p><p>You take a steadying breath, and then, more timid than you’d like, “Yes.”</p><p>“I have a proposition for you,” he says, and he begins to round your body like a predator to its prey, but you don’t feel unsafe. You’re not taut with fear, but with something close to anticipation. “If what I overheard is true, that you’ve only been intimate once before —“ You can’t stop yourself from flinching when two large hands clasp over your shoulders, thumbs caressing the sides of your neck. “— then I’d like to offer you my…services.” He looms over you from behind, your back to his chest, and says the last word like he’s testing it out.</p><p>There’s some part of your brain that hasn’t turned to dust or else a variant of a single cell organism, just enough that makes you think twice about what he’s proposing, no matter how your body is responding. You muster all the strength within you, push down the anxiety, and try to make your voice hard as you can. “Mr. Fett,” you say, and the surname feels heavy on your tongue, different from how you utter his first name in your dreams, “if – if this is about me keeping my job —“</p><p>“Oh no,” he grumbles and his hands sweep down your arms, gentle, like he’s trying to warm you. “No, if you don’t want this you can walk out of here and work on your little speeders and starships to your heart’s content.” One of his hands finds your waist over your tunic. You’ve never felt small in someone else’s grasp until now, his hand splayed over the side of your abdomen, and you relish in it. His voice is gravel when he speaks. “But I think you want it,” he says, so sure of himself. “Like I said, you’re not exactly subtle. I see how you look at me, little one. When you think I don’t notice you.” He squeezes your side as if to emphasize his words. “But I <em>always</em> notice you.”</p><p>You practically bow back into him with a gasp and he catches you, now both of his big hands settled on your hips. His armor is hard against you, planes and ridges, but all you can focus on is his voice, modulated and deeper than you’ve ever heard and right next to your ear. “And when I heard you’ve only been fucked once in your life, and that it wasn’t even fulfilling, well…” Boba pauses, and brings your hips back into his with the subtlest of motions. It’s enough to make his point, enough to make you let out an embarrassing whine when you feel him, hard and thick, push against the small of your back. You’re panting like you’re sprinting, whether it be away from something or to it, you don’t know. Your core clenches around nothing. He finally lets the end of his sentence spill from under his helmet. “I couldn’t let a pretty thing like you walk around here, left <em>wanting</em>.”</p><p>Boba pulls you back again, with more force this time, and your hips spasm at the contact. He huffs something like a laugh and his hands are wandering again, one coming up to cup your breast over the coarse material of your shirt, the other finding the waistband of your pants under your tunic. “Let me teach you,” he requests quietly, gloved fingers fiddling with the tie of your pants. His body is all encompassing, enveloping you from behind, and you swallow thickly at the feeling. His hand slips past your pants and he wastes no time in cupping your cunt over your panties, hand slotting perfectly over your core like it was made to be there. “Let me show you how good it can be.” Boba pushed the heel of his hand onto your mound and a sound catches in your throat like you’re choking on it. “You like the sound of that, little one?”</p><p>You don’t know how you do it – how you find your voice among your mismatched thoughts, among your frayed nerves and the involuntary gyration of your hips out into his hand and back onto his clothed erection. You don’t know how you do it, but you do. It’s hoarse, rougher than the scalding sands that cover this desolate planet, but it’s yours all the same. “<em><b>Yes</b></em>.”</p><p>His next words are uttered under his breath. “Good girl.”</p><p>Boba is pushing you forward, guiding your steps to his desk. He stops the both of you when you’re a step or two away, his large hand still covering your core, massaging you there. A finger finds its way under your panties and he wastes no time in sliding the gloved digit lazily over your folds. You huff a hard breath, the cool leather a harsh juxtaposition against the smoldering heat of your cunt. You push your hips forward in an attempt to turn the teasing into real action, but a steadfast hand on your hip stops you.</p><p>“Have you ever come on someone’s fingers before, girl?” Boba asks. It’s a simple question, asked bluntly and leaving no room for confusion as to his intentions.</p><p>Between heavy breaths, you answer him. “Only…on…my own.”</p><p>His finger is grazing your labia at a tantalizing speed, like he’s just exploring the territory. “So you do touch yourself. Have you touched yourself since you’ve been here?”</p><p>Again, a simple question. You feel the tingle of embarrassment as you nod, a minuscule movement.</p><p>“Use your words, little one.”</p><p>“I – yes.”</p><p>“And who do you think about when you touch yourself under my roof, hmm?”</p><p>Embers are smoldering in the deepest parts of you. You’ve only ever felt like this in the privacy of your bed, your own fingers working over yourself with not even <em>half</em> the skill as he is now. You think you must be hallucinating, that maybe some slimy smuggler slipped some spice in your drink when you weren’t looking. But Boba’s fingers are so real they’re unmistakable, especially when he slips another beneath your thin underwear to join its brother in skimming your folds. You’ve dreamed of this, ever since you had laid eyes on his imposing, powerful form. You don’t see the point in keeping this secret from him.</p><p>“You,” and the answer is breathless. “I think about you.”</p><p>Boba growls at that, fingers finally pushing against you with purpose to breach your outer lips and find the sopping wetness leaking from you. You wonder if he can feel the slick through his gloves – you definitely feel the rough leather against the softest parts of you and it brings a texture to which you’re already addicted. He finds your clit easily like it’s been mapped out for him beforehand. You jolt in his grasp, an automatic reaction. He does it again, and you repeat the motion without meaning too.</p><p>“Do my fingers feel like yours?”</p><p>“No,” you say, words coming free from your mouth, whatever filter or embarrassment or hesitancy that usually stops you completely absent under his touch. “Bigger.” And then, after you think about it for a second, “<em>Better.”</em></p><p>He ruts against your back, just once, like he can’t help it. “Lets see if we can’t give you a better time than your Bestine boy, princess.”</p><p>His fingers are gone from your heat just as they were beginning their journey, but you don’t have time to complain as he turns you to face him and pushes you into his desk. You lean on the edge naturally, and he pushes your shoulder back more until you’re sitting, toes just skimming the floor. His gloves are off now, you notice, and you’re hypnotized as you watch the tanned skin tug at your pants. You lift your bottom half off the desk to assist, and suddenly you’re bare to him, pants and panties around your ankles, pooling around your work boots.</p><p>A flush colors your face and runs down your neck, and you close your legs on instinct. You haven’t been this intimate with anyone, even back in Bestine, your one experience under the cover of night and beneath scratchy sheets. You feel too exposed, too seen, and you’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t worried Boba would see you fully and rear back.</p><p>The thought is popped clean out of your consciousness at his bare hand on your knee. “Don’t hide yourself from me, girl,” he says, no, <em>commands</em> as he pushes your legs apart. “I’ve not brought you here for games.</p><p>You blink up at him. Those embers in your core are smoldering hotter now, and you let your thighs fall open.</p><p>Boba’s helmet tilts down to your slick cunt, glistening in the low light of his quarters. He hums in what you’re sure this time is approval. A hand comes up to caress the sensitive skin of your inner thigh while the over returns to your folds. You gasp and attempt to force your hips to stay planted on the desk.</p><p>His fingers work over you in the most delicious way. They’re thick and move through you easily, and you know now that you’ve gotten a taste of this you’ll never be able to get enough. Boba rubs two digits against your clit with just the right amount of pressure and you cry out before you can bring a hand up to cover your mouth.</p><p>“You’re soaked, little one,” he says, smug. “All this, and for me.” He adds something else under his breath. “<em>Be karking drowning in it by the time I’m done with you</em>.” It’s said almost like a threat.</p><p>His fingers inch toward your opening, and some memory you’d pushed down resurfaces so suddenly you reach out and grasp his wrist. He stops immediately and the dark visor is meeting your gaze. “Isn’t it supposed to hurt?” you ask, quiet and small.</p><p>Something shifts in Boba’s stance. “No. Not unless you want it to.”</p><p>“I don’t think…” The grasp around his wrist loosens until you let go, hand coming to grip the edge of the table. “Last time, when he did it, it…burned a little bit.”</p><p>Boba’s fingers are moving again at your release, circling your entrance like a dance. It feels good, even on the outside – he’s not even in you yet and you’re jittery. “That boy just didn’t know how to treat this pretty little cunt,” he grumbles. You moan at his words and his ministrations. He probes at your opening with a fingertip and your hips move toward the feeling. “I’m not surprised. You need someone who knows what they’re doing, princess. Someone who can work you right.” At your hips’ urging, he sinks a single finger inside you, crooking it just right, and your ass lifts off the table. He echoes the words he overheard you say back in the hangar, light years away. “Luckily, I have, how did you say it? A good command of my surroundings.”</p><p>He’s pumping into you, no rush to his pace, and you’re nearly incoherent. You watch his finger move in and out of you, disappearing to the knuckle, reaching parts of you you didn’t even know you had. You can’t look away. You’re panting, little sounds of pleasure escaping your lips. Boba’s head is not focused on what his hand is doing but instead is steady on your face, like he’s cataloging every pinch of your brows, every flare of your nose as he feels you. He adds a second finger, slowly, and your hips keep jumping up to meet his thrusts. With one jerk, the heel of his palm hits your clit and now you can’t look down anymore because your head is thrown back at the feeling. It’s too sudden, over too soon, but you don’t even have to ask him to do it again because his thumb begins circling the nub with purpose and you cry out, a high sound that echoes in the room. You clench around him.</p><p>“Look at how you chase my fingers,” he says at the instinctive movement of your hips. His voice is low and rough in his broad chest. “Your pussy can’t get enough. Are you gonna come already, girl?”</p><p>“I —“ You’re cut off as a third finger easily slips inside you, and they all crook in tandem to rub again a spongy spot just inside you that you’ve never been able to find. Your voice slips from you an octave lower than normal. “Oh, <b><em>gods</em></b>.”</p><p>Boba chuckles, the smug sound of it twisting around your body. “Your friend was right, you <em>are</em> pretty, clenching around my fingers like this.”</p><p>“I… You…” Words fail you as his pace picks up and is thrusting his hand into you with fervor. Your arms barely keep you up, hands flat on the desk behind you, elbows locked. Your wetness coats your inner thighs, sticky and hot, runs down onto the desk in a mess. You feel like you can’t catch your breath, the way he’s pumping into you, and the wet sounds your cunt makes as he works you fills the room. If you had the brain capacity, you’d have the decency to be embarrassed. </p><p>Those embers that have been stirred to life only minutes before are now engulfing you, burning you from the inside. You’re sure it’s about to overtake you completely. You flutter around Boba’s thick fingers. One of your legs begins to shake of its own accord. “I think I’m…oh fuck…I’m – I’m gonna…”</p><p>The hand that’s been resting against your hip grasps your chin and pulls you up to see the gaze of the black glass of Boba’s visor. He’s growling, something feral in his tone. “Give it to me. Let me hear how much you love this.” Your legs start to close around his hand as you’re wound tighter than you’ve ever been before. But his free hand comes down and pushes them apart with force. “Be loud.”</p><p>In seconds, you’re free falling off the precipice of desire, a face pinching in the overwhelming feeling. A wretched sound frees itself from your throat like it’s been stuck there for some time, aching to get out. You can’t tear your eyes away from where you know his are, the heat of his gaze evident even though you can’t see it. Nothing makes sense and everything fits together perfectly as the flames swallow you whole. Your arms buckled under your weight and you fall back onto the desk, leg shaking uncontrollably as your hips lift off the table to meet Boba’s advances, his fingers not stopping their assault on your drenched cunt. It’s like he’s wrenching your orgasm out of you, pulling at it with his strong fingers until it reveals its full self in all its raw, tender glory.</p><p>You’ve never felt like this before. Even when you’ve come over your own fingers, nothing comes close to this. Nothing <em>will ever</em> come close to this, right now.</p><p>Tremors ripple through your body as you drift down from the high, and Boba has returned to the lethargic pace with which he started. His thumb has ceased the pressure on your clit, thankfully, because it was becoming overwhelming, but those thick fingers still move inside you with ease. You’re sitting in some of your arousal that’s leaked from you, the slick coating the inside of your thighs. You blink up at the ceiling, chest heaving, wondering how in the galaxy you could have ended up here.</p><p>Boba slowly, oh so slowly, removes his hand from you, and you jerk as his fingers exit your opening. You can’t help but look down your body at the wet digits, glossy and glistening in the lamplight. It’s a mesmerizing sight, suddenly getting hot and tingly so quickly again with the knowledge that <em>you</em> made him that messy, that he did that to you. You follow his hand as he brings it under the lip of his helmet. He’s loud, obscene as he sucks your taste off of him.</p><p>You groan at the sight. How in the seven hells did you end up here?</p><p>“Y’taste like my favorite mead, princess,” he mumbles through the vocoder. “Heady and sweet.”</p><p>Boba helps you stand on shaky legs, and you pitch forward before he catches you by your armpits, big hands molding over your torso. “Easy there, little one.”</p><p>“Sorry, I —“ You gulp at nothing. “That was —“</p><p>“How it should be,” Boba finishes for you, and whatever you were planning on saying originally is completely gone, flung out of your mind at the sureness of his words.</p><p>You reach for your pants and underwear, still hanging around your ankles, and pull them to cover yourself. Shaky hands attempt to tie the knot to secure them, but your usually deft fingers are not cooperating with your commands. Boba’s own hands push yours out of the way with little protest and tie it easily, the strings absolutely minuscule in his large grasp.</p><p>You both stand there for a moment, just looking at each other as gusts of wind beats against the palace, and a slithering thought finds its way into your overthinking mind. <em>Did he expect you to...I mean, it’s only fair, right?</em> You begin to reach for his groin, not exactly eager to return the favor despite your desire for the man before you. Last time you tried this, you hadn’t found it particularly enjoyable, let alone felt very good at it</p><p>His strong grasp is around your hand the minute he understands you intention. His fingers wrap around your wrist, a bit harsher than they’ve been all evening. “This isn’t a transactional agreement, girl.” He pushed your reaching hand away and instead his fingers jimmy just under the waistband of your pants and he pulls you forward with a jerk. You stumble for a moment until your feet find themselves under you, and he’s gently pushing you to the door of his quarters with a hand on the small of your back.</p><p>“I have work to do,” he says, nonchalant, like whatever just happened was as normal of an occurrence as the suns rising over the sands. Like he hadn’t just finger fucked you within an inch of your life. You find yourself at the threshold of his space, hanging in the limbo between the hall and his quarters. “You should really use the fresher – you’re a mess. That oil’ll stain if you don’t get it off soon.”</p><p>You do actually stumble this time as he gives you a little push, and you’re out the door and standing in the empty stone hallway. You turn to face him, expression slack even though your mind is reeling. Your eyes dance across his helmet and you wish you could see his face to see for yourself if any of this had any affect on his whatsoever. </p><p>You both stand there for a beat, the wind outside hitting the side of the palace with strength as it comes off the high dunes. His words are easy, smooth, and you want to linger in them for as long as you can. “Come back when you’re ready for another lesson.”</p><p>The door shuts and you’re left in the dark, not even the moonlight reaching you through the skylight. You stare ahead, unseeing, mouth ajar.</p><p>Fresher. Right. That sounds nice right about now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cunnilinguistics</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>after some friendly advice, you decide to finally take the boss up on his offer of another lesson.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i’m not sorry for the title this is my galaxy brain moment. anyway pt 2 is here! this one goes out to all the amazing friends who know more about sex than you and let you pick their brains without making it weird. you people are the backbone of our society. slurp up boba hoes<br/><span class="small"><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/2FtvyUAzcRdTZpu38Y6Ld9?si=hYp4qEsuTq6-hP3zEZs_HQ">song for this part hehe</a></span></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You carefully remove the durasteel panel from underneath the control board and gently lean it on the wall next to you. You squeeze beneath the low overhang to see a multitude of electrical lights staring back at you, some twinkling like far off stars. Wires tangle together in an unending mess, and the small flashlight you flick on and tuck behind your ear doesn’t illuminate much. But you pick out the two green wires Kes had indicated and gently tug them down to you.</p>
<p>The Rodian is on her hands and knees, bent down so she can try to get a glimpse of you. “Remember, the ones you need are green, like a nice deep green. Don’t touch the orange ones or else —“</p>
<p>“I got it, Kes,” you interrupt with a humored lilt, and rearrange yourself on your back to reach into the guts of the control board at a better angle. “Your diagram was <em>very</em> detailed.” Untangling the green wires from the rest proves to be a bit of a hassle, but you’re getting there. “You know, I think you could go into illustration if you wanted to.”</p>
<p>Kes’s laugh fills the small cockpit with a joyous ring. “Wouldn’t pay me as well as this gig does, though.”</p>
<p>You rub your shoulder on the side of your face, trying to wipe away the sweat dripping there. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”</p>
<p>The cockpit of <em>Slave I</em> is cramped, dark, and so damn hot that your shirt sticks to your skin. The blistering heat has returned to suffocate the planet, the twins suns vengeful in their wrath; the rainy season had only lasted two days, and the three after those have been brutal, slow moving and heavy like a wounded bantha.</p>
<p>You shift again to move off the head of a bolt that is digging into the small of your back. You’ve been finding yourself on your back more often than not.</p>
<p>After the land speeder, it was the transport Dendi was working on, unscrewing the old seats in need of replacing. A ship belonging to one of the palace’s “guests” had a fuel leak for which you had to clear your afternoon, disgustingly grimy by the end of it. And last night your bed felt like it was wobbling every time you tossed or turned to the point that you couldn’t take it anymore – you’d thrown off your thin quilt, grabbed the small tool bag you keep in the corner of the room you and Kes share, and pulled yourself under the bed to try and fix it.</p>
<p>In the end, there was nothing your wrenches or screwdrivers could have done. Kes dragged herself from her own bed to stop your frenzied behavior and easily slipped a thin, old paper book beneath one of the bed’s legs. It didn’t wobble for the rest of the night, despite your fitful sleep.</p>
<p>Yes, you seem to be on your back more and more, in every situation except the one you craved. <em>Under him.</em></p>
<p>You shake your head to clear your thoughts. Not now, you can’t fixate on this <em>now</em> when you’re elbow-deep in the innards of <em>his</em> ship, your legs straddling the base of <em>his</em> pilot’s chair as you affix <em>his</em> updated targeting array.</p>
<p>It’s been five days. Five sluggish, aching days filled with a merciless heat that rises in waves off the dunes, and an onslaught of work that keeps your hands grease-stained and busy. But not busy enough to distract you from the warmth that simmers in that deep, secret, hollow place low in your abdomen with even the semblance of a thought of your time with Boba. You can hardly concentrate, and it’s a wonder you get your work done with any skill because every time you use your hands to do anything – unscrew a stubborn bolt, solder a broken beam back together, hammer away at durasteel plating – they tremble like they’re delicate and could break at any moment. Your hands, the best and most reliable tools you have, reduced to flimsy, foolish things.</p>
<p>You should hate him for making you like this, for holding this much power over you in the first place, but when you look at your hands you think of his hands and how much bigger they are than yours, how they cupped you fully, worked into you with exquisite skill and practice, and finally wrenched a release out of you stronger than you’ve ever had before.</p>
<p>And once you’re thinking about all that, there’s really no point in trying to get anything done right because you have to rush off to the fresher to try and mimic what he did that night as you search for some relief, but you <em>can’t</em>, can’t figure out how he got that deep inside you, how his fingers moved against that spot you can never find. You’re frustrated in more ways than one, and you know the only way to get over that hill is to give in and find him.</p>
<p>To get another lesson.</p>
<p>“Hey, kid, you there?”</p>
<p>You blink up at the intertwined wires and small lights. “Sorry, I —“ You cough, clear your throat to find your voice. “It’s kind of hard to hear from under here.”</p>
<p>Kes nudges one of your legs. “I asked if you’re good to go. I have the board.”</p>
<p>You’re relieved to find you still have the two green wires clutched in one of your hands. You sigh. This can’t keep happening. “Yeah. All good.” Kes gently places the circuit board on your stomach, her magnificent handiwork seeing the light of day for only a few more moments until it’s nestled among the rest of the ship’s hardware. But then again, her skill will be displayed in the new advanced targeting system, a thing of beauty and precision and destruction.</p>
<p>You gingerly grab the board with your free hand and slip it under the ship’s control panel with you and begin securing it within the jumble of wires, plugging the two green ones into the appropriate ports. <em>Maybe next time, Boba can plug into your ports</em>.</p>
<p>Oh, seven hells. You can’t do this.</p>
<p>“You sure you’re alright, kid?” Kes asks you, her voice unusually quiet in the cramped cockpit. “You’ve been kind of out of it the last few days. Ever since you missed dinner that one night.”</p>
<p>You swallow nothing and wish you can wipe away the sweat gathering on your palms. “I’m fine.” It comes out more clipped than you mean it to. “Just…tired.”</p>
<p>Kes is quiet for a few moments, her weight against your bent knees the only indication of her presence. It’s so unlike her, this silent hesitancy she’s been showing you the past few days. You notice it in between your lapses of reminiscent daydreaming, and you’re not sure why she’s being cautious around you. Are you <em>that</em> obvious, visually falling into your own head? You try to be inconspicuous with your frantic trips to the fresher. And okay, maybe the inability to get yourself off like you used to is coiling you tighter than a spring, and the oppressive heat doesn’t help. You silently chastise yourself as you work on getting the circuit board set up. Just because you’re frustrated, doesn’t mean you need to take it out on your friends.</p>
<p>And Kes <em>is</em> a friend, and a good one. She was your guide around the palace the first week, and you still rely on her when you’re not sure where to go. You share a small, sandstone room on one of the subterranean levels, and it’s so easy to talk with her because she really listens to you. Kes doesn’t have many secrets, but some have been shared between those four walls under the cover of night. She’s quickly become your confidant in this fast-moving and dangerous world. She deserves better than your hard tone.</p>
<p>Kes begins again, slow, like she’s gauging your reaction. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right, kid?”</p>
<p>You stop your movements, hands stilling in their work. The dancing lights beneath the control board blink at you, gently illuminating your sweaty face in a mosaic of blues and whites and yellows. Your gaze falls unfocused as you let the kind words resonate within your chest. You can talk to her about anything but this. “I know Kes. I’m fine, really.”</p>
<p>“Is this because of what I said about you being inexperienced? Because if it is, I'm real sorry, I didn’t mean to make you embarrassed. Honest.”</p>
<p>Your grimace is hidden from her view. “No, it’s not that, it’s just —“ You bite your lips to stop yourself and finish up on securing the improved circuit board. You cannot talk to Kes about this. It’s too easy to spill your guts to her and it’s no fault of her own, but you’re scared if you let something slip the whole thing will come tumbling out of your mouth, details about how Boba reeled you in so effortlessly and decided to teach you about the finer things in life. You know he didn’t say anything about keeping your meeting between the two of you, but you felt the unspoken agreement hang in the air as you stood at the threshold of his quarters.</p>
<p>Kes is a friend, but this went beyond the scope of that. Kes is worldly and experienced and full of intimate knowledge you haven’t even thought to dream up for yourself. But wait, now your mind is running away from you at lightspeed: maybe you can’t discuss your frenzied thoughts so explicitly, but if you’re <em>vague</em> enough…</p>
<p>You slide out from under the control panel, circuit board connected and quickly forgotten as you sit up and come face to face with the Rodian. “Actually, can I ask you something?”</p>
<p>Large, watery eyes blink at you, so big and dark you can see your own wide ones reflecting back at you. She’s clutching her hand-illustrated diagram of Slave I’s interior electrical wiring to her chest, goggles pushed up on her forehead. Her small snout falls open a little at her surprise. “Uh, yeah. Of course.”</p>
<p>“When you were with that Nautolan, the one you talked about before,” you begin, words spilling from you before you even know what you’re saying, “what kind of stuff did you guys…do?”</p>
<p>Kes furrows her brow, eyes twitching in question. She opens her mouth like she’s going to reply but then closes it, only to really speak this time. “You mean, like, what kind of <em>sexual</em> —“</p>
<p>“Yes,” you cut her off with purpose, the word bouncing around the cockpit of <em>Slave I</em>. Your desire for this knowledge outweighs the bubbling embarrassment in your gut.</p>
<p>Her gaze slides from your face to eye the discarded durasteel panel leaning against the wall, a mix of expressions playing across her emotive face. “Well,” Kes says slowly, stretching the syllable, “Naotolan and Rodian anatomy doesn’t exactly match up for the purposes of reproduction, but that’s not all sex is.” She taps her fingers in succession against her diagram, still held close to her torso. “You can use your hands to feel and explore, and he had nice big hands. Or your mouth —“</p>
<p>You can’t help but interrupt again, your weight shifting minutely toward her in something like anticipation. “Is that nice?”</p>
<p>“What,” she asks, thrown out of her reminiscing stupor.</p>
<p>You swallow. “The mouth stuff. Does that really feel good?”</p>
<p>Kes gives you a funny look, brow arched and a silly half-grin gracing her face. “Are you kidding? Yes, that really feels good.” Then, as an afterthought: “When they know what they’re doing, that is. And my Nautolan definitely knew.” </p>
<p>You’d thought about the act before, how it might feel to have someone mouthing at your core, but you’d really only seen it as a quick side show in lewd holovids, leading to a main event that focused on brutal thrusting and a man’s final release. Then again, it’s not like Tatooine was known as a haven of good porn, and the ‘vids you’d managed to get your hands on – thanks to an old friend that often visited the Inner Rim and has since left this sandy hell-hole, good for them – always seemed to focus on a domineering male’s pleasure and forego the other party. It didn’t take you long to learn you were not the target audience for these ‘vids.</p>
<p>But all this doesn’t stop you from fantasizing, especially now that you’ve had the taste of someone who knew how to work you up in just the right way. You had the kingpin of Tatooine at your disposal, more or less, for the purpose of exploring your pleasure. What would it feel like, to have Boba Fett’s tongue move through your most intimate parts? To have him push open your legs with those broad, armor-clad shoulders, his face nestled at the apex of your thighs? And this thought quickly morphs into <em>oh, his face</em>, to have him take off the terrifying visage of his helmet and see his face, knowing it’s for the sole purpose of giving you pleasure with his mouth and lips and tongue until you’re falling over the edge.</p>
<p>You don’t realize you’re staring straight through Kes until she clears her throat, the gruff sound filling the cramped space. Your eyes regain focus and she’s looking back at you with a smirk, and you give her a bashful smile in return. “You with me, kid?” she asks, her voice light, airy.</p>
<p>You blink and give your head a small shake like that might clear your thoughts. “Yeah, sorry.” She gives you a look and you bite the inside of your cheek. But you have another query, and you ask it like you’re desperate, voice lowering with every word. “What if they...what if I don’t taste...good?” You know maybe it’s a silly question – you can still hear the echo of Boba’s gruff approval, <em>like my favorite mead</em> – but insecurity is like a line of Tuskens across the dunes in that you don’t know you’re overwhelmed until it’s too late.</p>
<p>Kes’s smirk falters, corners of her lips falling with the weight of your question. “Oh, kid,” she sighs and lolls her head forward. When she looks at you again, her brows are drawn together and she puts a green hand on your knee. “Listen to me. Unless you’re not taking care of yourself, or else bathe in engine oil, you’re not going to taste <em>bad</em>.” You’re watching her with rapt attention, soaking in all she has to say. “And anyway, it’s not necessarily about how you taste – it’s the holistic act, not pieces and parts of it, that make it good for you and the person you’re with.” That little quirk of her lips returns, but her eyes are still watching you closely. “Y’know, whoever it is should be honored to have you like that. If they’re not eating it like the ripest starfruit, they’re doing it wrong.”</p>
<p>You laugh at that, the sounds tinkling around the cockpit like little bells. Your unease is eroding away, Kes’s reassurance a sandstorm to your self-doubt. And that’s why it’s so easy to talk to her about these things, subjects that might be taboo to others, because Kes reserves her judgement and doesn’t make you feel like you’re weird for asking. You find yourself thanking the Maker for her with each passing day.</p>
<p>Kes laughs with you and gives you a little shove, no force behind it. “I’m serious! If they’re not drunk by the end of it, something isn’t right, and not with you.” She gives you a look then, tilting her chin down to gaze at you through her proverbial lashes. You know the question is coming before she can say the first word. “Is there someone I should know about?” </p>
<p>“No.” You say it too quickly, too obvious, and try to recover. “It’s just that, the conversation from the other day made me realize I don’t really know a lot about these things,” you raise your brows at the last two words, “and I just – I want to be prepared. For when something does happen.” It’s not a total lie, more like a small omission of the truth.</p>
<p>Kes sighs with a smile. “I get it. Like I said, you can always talk to me” She jostles you, friendly, affection rolling off her in waves. “And something <em>will</em> happen. And when you meet someone, you’ve just got to articulate what you like, and I’m sure it will be better than your Bestine boy.”</p>
<p>You want to laugh again, but another creeping thought intrudes into your already reeling brain. “What if I don’t know what I like?”</p>
<p>“Well,” Kes begins, “then you can learn together.” She elbows your thigh, a smirk playing on her features. “Or better yet, find someone to teach you.”</p>
<p>Your head snaps up and you look at her with wide eyes, the instinctual reaction too quick to school. But she’s not looking at you with a knowing gaze – instead, her lips tremble with the laugh she’s struggling to keep in. You stomp down the anxious lump in your throat and roll your eyes, and she lets loose the chuckle. It’s your turn to shove her, knocking her into the wall of the cockpit, her body malleable in her fit of giggles.</p>
<p>She stands easily and helps you up as well. Both of you have to duck in the small cockpit, but once you’re in the hull of <em>Slave I,</em> she throws an arm around your shoulders and you both walk in-step down the ramp. “Come on, kid, don’t be embarrassed. Listen, whenever you find the person you’re ready to <em>do it </em>with, I want you to look them in the eye and tell them exactly what you want.” You and Kes emerge from the ship only to be embraced by the overbearing heat hanging in the hangar like a fog, twin suns remorseless in their assault. The air is dry but you’re drenched in sweat, Kes’s body snug at your side. She stretches out her free arm in front of her, waving her hand like she’s painting the picture of your future. “Here’s what you’re gonna say...”</p>
<p>*******</p>
<p>Your eyes bore into the brushed steel of the door like maybe, if you try hard enough, you can see through it.</p>
<p>The palace is dark, and the heat of the day has sizzled off only enough for you to not feel suffocated by it, a cool draft finding its way through the crevices and the portholes that are meant as windows that litter the aged sandstone walls. A curl of wind dances across the back of your neck and you shiver.</p>
<p>Your half-closed fist is hanging in the air, inches from the door you stand before. You can’t find the strength to rap against it.</p>
<p>After the day’s work you did manage to make it to the fresher this time, rinsing the oil, grease, and sweat from your tired body. Since you arrived at the palace, you’re in a constant marvel at how water is never in short supply here and you don’t feel bad when you indulge in this simple pleasure, often staying in the fresher longer than you really need to just to feel the spray pound into your sore muscles. Why not take advantage of the things at your disposal?</p>
<p>After the fresher comes dinner with Kes and Dendi, the Rodian perched on the gally counter while the Twi’lek leans next to her, the three of you munching on your chosen eats as you all gab, decompressing after the long day. You don’t think Kes will mention your chat from earlier, and she doesn’t, and you find yourself filled with gratitude for her yet again.</p>
<p>You finish your meal and bid your friends farewell, promising Kes you’d see her later, and begin to wander up the stairs to the higher levels of the palace, searching for that secluded spot you’d found your first week here.</p>
<p>It had been an accident. You’d been searching for a certain storage closet where miscellaneous parts were kept, a place of legend with the way Kes talked about it. Dendi had pointed you in a vague direction, and though you hadn’t found the haven you’d originally set out for, you had stumbled upon a small, secluded balcony overlooking the Great Mesra Plateau, the rippling sands and harsh stone never-ending as it stretches past the horizon. You knew it didn’t go on forever, that settlements like Carnthout and Bestine and, further out, Anchorhead dotted the desert on the other side. But when you first gazed out at the harsh terrain flooded in moonlight, high above it all, you felt so, so far from your little homestead in Bestine. Sadness did not fill you but instead the sweet swell of pride. You’d made it out, like you always said you would.</p>
<p>Nights on Tatooine did not last long; you have to savor them. And this private little space on the fringe of the scum and villainy that proceeded beneath you is your favorite spot to do so.</p>
<p>But tonight, the sheer moonlight and subtle breeze do little to distract you from the embers of desire in your gut. If anything, the wind sweeping off the dunes only exaggerates it, makes your bare arms break out in goosebumps and you long for the embrace of another. Soon, your feet are taking you down the stairs, back along the stone walls, your footfalls soft against the sandy floor. You’re not paying attention to where you’re going, your thoughts tangled with want, and it’s not until you’re standing in front of the door that you realize you’ve walked the opposite direction of your own quarters and, of no cognizant intention, wound up before his.</p>
<p>You start to lower your curled fingers to your side, surrendering to nerves, and make to take a step back. But a strong voice makes your muscles freeze.</p>
<p>“Hello there, little one.”</p>
<p>Your head whips around and there he is, standing just down the corridor, a small parcel under his arm and a anti-grav crate lingering in front of him, hovering a few inches above the floor. It’s hard to see his full frame in the dim lighting, but there’s no mistaking the powerful posture of Boba Fett.</p>
<p>You let out a stuttered breath. “Hello,” you reply, voice much louder in the deserted corridor than you mean it to be.</p>
<p>Boba walks closer to you, his steps heavy and determined. “Have you come to see me for something?” The voice is gruff through his helmet’s vocoder, crackling at the edges.</p>
<p>You almost want to laugh. <em>As if he didn’t know</em>. “I, uhh…” Your eyes drift to the objects he has with him. The crate is old, dented, like it’s been pried open one too many times, and whatever he’s carrying under his arm seems heavy, as well. That nervous tingle runs down your spine and you’re spewing excuses before you can stop yourself. “You’re busy, maybe I should go.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” he says, chipped, still stalking toward you and pushing the crate with him. “Just tell me what you’re here for, and I’m sure I can find the time.”</p>
<p>Your eyes dance over the visage of his helmet, the T-shaped visor finally coming into the light. Words tumble out of you like stones down a flight of stairs. “I don’t want to interrupt, you look – I mean, you’re <em>obviously</em> busy, and anyway, it’s not important, I – I’m just gonna go now, this is —“</p>
<p>“Stop babbling, girl,” he dictates in a severe tone, now only the crate between you stopping you from reaching out to touch him. “You’re smarter than that.” He keys something into the pad next to the door, and it slides open. “Inside.”</p>
<p>You follow the one word command, not taking a second look at the abandoned corridor you’re leaving behind. His quarters are exactly the same as you remember it, though you hadn’t paid much attention to the finer details. You don’t really now, focus too occupied with the man entering the space behind you, pushing the crate into the corner. The memories of your previous visit are vivid. You’re thankful you at least cleaned up, this time.</p>
<p>“Now then,” Boba says as he sets down the parcel on his desk. The same desk he sat you on when he worked his fingers into you. He turns to face you in very much the same manner as he did last time, leaning casually against the table. “You were going to tell me why you’re here, yes?”</p>
<p>It’s framed as a request, but your tongue is suddenly very heavy and dry in your mouth. “I came by to…” You’re staring, you know, but you can’t help it, not when his broad body is right there, thick arms crossed over his chest, the chin of his helmet tilted like he’s looking back at you from under his brow. Authority radiates from him and you just want to bask in it like a reptile on a hot rock. You try again to answer him. “I’m here because I…” </p>
<p>“You’re doing it again,” he says. “Spit it out, girl.”</p>
<p>“<em>I’mreadyforanotherlesson</em>,” you blurt out, words falling from your lips in quick succession, melting together in your hast. Boba doesn’t move from his statuesque stance. You swallow the lump in your throat and repeat your words, taking the time to really taste them. “I’m ready for another lesson.”</p>
<p>If you hadn’t been listening for it, you would have missed the low hum that emanated from deep in Boba’s chest. He lifts a hand and beckons to you, and you step forward without hesitancy. The moment you’re in range he grabs at you, big hands wrapping around your wrists and drawing you flush to his chest. You don’t stumble, taking the pull in stride. Your neck cranes to look up into his helmet where you imagine his eyes must be.</p>
<p>“That’s what I thought,” Boba grumbles, gloved thumbs caressing the thin skin on the inside of your wrists. Your stomach flutters at the action. “What is it you want to learn this time? You’ve already come on my fingers, but even the simplest of pleasures is still a pleasure, after all.” Your breath picks up at his direct words, your abdomen coiling, thighs clenching of their own volition. One of his hands skims up your arm, his light touch tickling the crook of your elbow and you shiver. It moves up your shoulder until he’s cradling the side of your neck in his large palm, fingers digging into the nape, thumb rubbing the sedative spot just below your ear. “I’d give you my cock, sweet girl, but I don’t think you’re ready for that just yet.”</p>
<p>You gasp and let out a stuttering breath. Something about juxtaposition between his gentle touches and vulgar speech is so <em>erotic</em>, a potent elixir that already has you wound so tight. Though the thought of his thick, adept fingers filling you again is tempting, there’s something you want more. You just have to find the courage to ask for it.</p>
<p>“What do you want, princess?” His voice is so close it consumes you. “Ask, and I’ll give.”</p>
<p>You’re trembling, and you never tremble – anything delicate about you has long been dried up by the twin suns, or else sanded away by harsh winds. But you feel delicate with Boba. Everything about him is bigger than you, stronger than you, and it all assaults your senses until you’re near incoherent. “Mouth,” you utter under your breath, hardly able to articulate it. “I want your mouth.”</p>
<p>Boba stops his soft touches and leans back enough to gaze down at you better. Your mouth goes dry at the action, and you know you must have said the wrong thing, how could you be so <em>stupid</em> to think he’d ever show his face to you, an insignificant little mechanic in an ocean of sand far too vast for your minuscule desires. Your stomach sinks at his stillness, and you’re frozen, too, unable to move until he does.</p>
<p>But he does, Boba’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh that quickly morphs into a groan, and he pulls you with the hand on your neck so your head is tucked under his chin. You sigh, too, out of relief, and the small uptick of your lips is involuntary. “Oh, sweet girl,” he says, all gravel and hard edges, and you can almost feel it rumble in his chest through the armor. “You sound so nervous. You’ve never had someone lick your cunt, have you?”</p>
<p>You can’t speak. You shake your head instead.</p>
<p>“No, didn’t think so.” He pushes you back gently and you look up at him again, cheeks hot, pupils blown wide. He huffs a little laugh at your open expression. “We’ll change that tonight.”</p>
<p>Boba gives you a little nudge, his grasp on your neck and wrist releasing. He nods his head in the direction of a doorway. “Meet me in there. Bottoms off.” He shoos you with a wave of his hand and stands from the desk. “I won’t keep you waiting long.”</p>
<p>Dazed, you wander into the room he’d indicated. There’s a large, low bed, blankets pushed to one side, two or three flat pillows sitting against the wall at the head of it. A tattered divan sits in the center of the room over a rug that looks as though it’s woven out of rags. A heavy trunk at the foot of the bed, and something akin to a dresser or wardrobe against one wall. It’s sparse, monochrome in the same sandy color as the rest of the palace, but there’s no denying it’s Boba’s bedroom. You feel like you can’t look at anything for too long or else your curiosity will get the better of you and you’ll see something you’re not supposed to. So you sit gingerly on the divan, eyes focusing on the floor by your feet.</p>
<p>Oh. Bottoms off. Right.</p>
<p>Your pants come off easily and you fold them in a neat square next to you. You think about it for a moment and decide to leave your panties on, mostly for posterity’s sake – you’re not used to being bare to others, and though Boba’s seen your bottom half in full view, nervousness tingles in your fingertips.</p>
<p>Boba is true to his word, you’re not waiting long until he’s stomping into the room, looking the same as he did in the foyer of his quarters, armor all still secure on his body. You watch him carefully, and when he sees you sitting there he grumbles something indecipherable. Then, he speaks in that harsh tone again, the one that leaves no room for argument. “I said bottoms off, girl, not just pants.” He turns his back to you and walks to the dresser. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”`</p>
<p>You stand, slowly, and begin to peel your panties down your legs, the crotch already soaked with your arousal and you don’t think your face can get any hotter, but it does at the sight. You place your underwear on your folded pants and before you can sit back down, there’s a quiet <em><b>hiss</b></em> and a dull <em><b>thud</b></em> and you turn to Boba to see him staring back at you, <em>really</em> staring, his dark eyes and stony face revealed to you in the low lighting of the room. His nose is wide, lips pursed, there are scars crisscrossing over his skull in thin, jagged lines. His face is aged, yes, but not <em>old</em>, weary lines of experience etched into his skin. Your fingers itch to feel him.</p>
<p>You can’t stop gazing at him as he shucks off his gloves and sets them next to his helmet. The pursed lips tilt into the makings of a smirk as he eyes you up and down before focusing on the apex of your thighs. “That’s better. You’ll have to learn to listen to me the first time.” He’s stalking toward you and you can’t move, can hardly think as his eyes dance across your face. He rounds you to stand at your back, an exact copy of your first meeting, but this time his hands are not hesitant as they explore, feeling under your shirt, skimming the outside of your thigh.</p>
<p>“Where is it you want my mouth, little one?” He pulls at the neckline of your shirt, and you nearly jolt at the shock of his lips, softer than you could have imagined, softer than they ought to be, mouthing at the space between your neck and shoulder. “Here,” he asks, and he grazes his teeth on your skin and you breath out an embarrassing whine. “I like that sound,” he grumbles against your neck. He moves the hand under your shirt to grasp at your breast over your chest band. “Or here, perhaps?” He pulls down the band and cups one breast in his bare hand, rough calluses fiddling with your nipple.</p>
<p>Your hips push back into him of their own accord. Your motor functions don’t work properly when you’re in his hands.</p>
<p>And now the other hand that’s been brushing over your thigh creeps to your cunt, already slick, and he cups it in his big hand, massaging the heel into your mound. You keen, grunt like an animal and shiver at the feel of his fingers ghosting across your folds.</p>
<p>“Ah, I think this is the spot,” Boba says in your ear, and you can actually feel his breath fanning over the wet skin of your neck where he’s licked it. You don’t care that he’s teasing you, you’ll take it all as long as he’s touching you.</p>
<p>His hands leave you far too soon as he moves to stand in front of you, imposing, not caring for personal space. “Sit,” he says, and you fall from your shaky legs back onto the divan. You watch with wide eyes as Boba gets to his knees before you, slowly like he’s not used to settling on them, but any discomfort he might feel is unreadable on his face even though you can now see it clearly. With no preamble, he parts your legs with two strong hands on your knees. You don’t resist.</p>
<p>His voice is hushed. “Pretty little cunt.” You clench at the words and you know he sees. His hands skim up to your thighs and push you further open, eyes trained on your core. “She’s hungry,” he rumbles, two fingers gathering the wetness seeping from you. “Let’s give her what she wants, hmm?”</p>
<p>You try to catch your breath as his face nears its destination. Boba stops right before he makes contact and looks up at you. “I’m going to taste you now.”</p>
<p>And he does, <em>stars </em>he does, dives right in and opens his mouth wide to latch onto as much of you as he can. Your hips jolt up into him and he hums, and it’s so, <em>so</em> much already. A heavy hand pushes you down onto the divan, fingers splayed over your abdomen while the other wraps around one of your thighs. His tongue is licking through your folds, the muscle soft and flexible as he licks a long stripe up your slit. Your hands flail, twitching as they search for something to grip onto, to anchor you to the planet, and when Boba sucks your clit into his mouth with an obscene sound one of your hands instinctively goes to the back of his head to pull him closer, the other grasping at his fingers digging into your thigh.</p>
<p>Through your haze, you realize what you’ve done and immediately let go of his head, afraid it was too much. Boba looks up at you from his place between your legs and lets go of your clit to speak. “It’s okay, princess,” he says, your slick glistening on his mouth. “Grab onto me. I can take it.” And then he’s back to mouthing at you, devouring you, and you cradle his skull again because it’s just <em>too much</em>.</p>
<p>Your head is thrown back in euphoria and your thighs keep trying to close around his head but he’s strong, pushing them open and nudging his broad shoulders between them. His tongue is alternating between your clit and your opening, and in the midst of all that he sucks the flowering lips of your labia into his mouth and you quiver, you can’t stop your hips from pitching up off the divan and into his mouth. He keeps humming into you, the sound reverberating through your whole body and in a shamefully short amount of time you’re writhing, smoldering so hot that you’re ready to fall off the precipice at a moment’s notice.</p>
<p>“Taste so sweet,” Boba says against your lower lips, nose nudging your clit. “How does it feel, girl? Do you like me eating your dripping cunt?”</p>
<p>You try to find your voice but instead a groan is ripped from your throat as he focuses on your clit, sucks on it, swirls it with his tongue. Boba huffs a laugh against you. “That’s what I like to hear.” The feeling is better than you could have ever imagined and you try to tell him your close in broken words. He seems to get the message, because he doesn’t stop what he’s doing and instead adds more fervor, eyes focused up to your pinched expression.</p>
<p>In no time, you’re gushing all over his tongue, flying at light speed through ecstasy, crying out and pulling his head impossibly closer. It’s so hot, everything is on fire, and your whole body spasms as you feel yourself coat your own thighs and his face, buried deep against you. Boba moans into you, lapping up all you have to give and more, pushing your legs apart with force as you try in vain to clench them around his head. You twitch as you strive to come down but Boba shows no signs of stopping, still going at it, eyes closed, and you give a weak push against his forehead.</p>
<p>“I can’t – of fuck, <b><em>fuck</em></b>, Boba I —“ Your words die in your throat as two of his fingers sink into your cunt, your fresh release easing their entrance, and your leg shakes and hips jolt at the penetration.</p>
<p>Boba lets up for a moment, only to speak. “Give me another,” he demands in no uncertain terms. “I know you’ve got one in there. Give it to me.” He pumps his fingers into you, crooks them at that heavenly angle while his tongue returns to work your oversensitive clit. He’s hitting that sweet spot again, the one that eludes you. He bumps it with every thrust of his fingers, and his mouth is latched onto you like he’ll never let go, and you don’t know what happening but you feel like you could shatter into a million little pieces. You manage to untangle your voice from where it’s stuck in your chest.</p>
<p>“I can’t…I can’t…I – shit, oh <em>kriffing stars</em>, <em><b>I’m</b></em> <em><b>coming</b></em>.”</p>
<p>You think it’s impossible but you really are, so soon after your first one, and this time it’s somehow stronger and it burns through you as your cunt clenches around his thick, pumping fingers. Both of your legs spasm with the power, your entire bottom half lifting off the divan with the unbridled force. You think maybe you’ve gone blind and dumb because your vision goes black and you can’t hear yourself but your mouth is open in a silent scream. You’re faintly aware of Boba drinking you with a fervor like you’re a prized ambrosia meant for some universal higher power. It feels like it lasts forever but after a handful of seconds you fall back onto the seat, twitching, panting, head lolling to your shoulder.</p>
<p>Boba’s mouth isn’t on you any more. With great effort, your eyes find his face to see him sitting on his haunches, smirking at you, face glistening with your come as he sucks on his fingers. He returns them to feel your aching core and you flinch. He laughs even as he gathers some of your arousal.</p>
<p>In a hypnotizing fashion, he brings his wet fingers up to your face and slides them into your open mouth. You taste yourself on him, tangy, salty, and not at all unpleasant. “You taste good, don’t you, little one?” You hum lamely around the digits, moving your tongue over the calloused pads of his fingers.</p>
<p>You lounge there as Boba stands, slow again in his movements, and you’re suddenly reminded how much older he is than you. Your legs splay open, not having the strength to bring them together, and you watch him retrieve his gloves he left on the dresser. “I’ll leave you to sort yourself out,” he says, and wipes his face with a spare rag laying there. He secures his helmet back over his head. “I’ve got to deal with business elsewhere.” You trail him with your gaze until you can’t anymore, until he’s at the doorway to the bedroom behind you. “Don’t be a stranger, girl. Come see me again. I like our little lessons.”</p>
<p>You hear him stomp away, spurs clinking with each step until the door to his quarters swishes open and secures shut behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sloppy Work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>you want to give boba the same treatment he gives you, but you’re not exactly practiced in the carnal acts. the experiences you do have are nothing to write home about, and you’re not sure if your limited skillset will be enough. that doesn't mean you won't try.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is just. pure messy filth. this took me so long and i’m tired of looking at it. not a hundo p happy w it but i think it’s good enough to go out into the interwebs. ty all for being patient 💖<b>also big note</b> the advice presented here is not, like, gospel. that’s just my opinion!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> He’s pushing against you, his body hard and soft in all the right places. And he feels your soft and hard parts, too – the ridged bone of your shoulder, the plane of your back, the soft rolls of your belly, and lower still to the swell of your ass. You lean into his touch and it’s like fire against you, searing you in a brand all his own. He’s speaking to you but you can’t quite make it out – it’s like you’re at the bottom of a deep well and his words melt together, indistinguishable, by the time they reach you. How you’re so far away but close enough for him to grope at your flesh, you don’t know. You don’t really care, not when his deft fingers are kneading into you, shoving you, pushing your body like it weighs nothing. You moan from behind your sealed lips and push your hips into the mattress beneath you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He shoves you again. And again. There’s more force behind it now, and your frame shakes with the strength of it. He’s never been this rough with you. </em>
</p><p>Your brows pinch together in annoyance, face half-buried into the pillow you clutch in a death grip. That voice you heard is clearer, not so far off at all. In fact, it’s right next to you.</p><p>“Kid? Kid, come on, wake up.”</p><p>Your eyelids lift with immense effort. Through your bleary vision you can just make out someone standing over you. You try to blink the sleep from your eyes. “Kes?”</p><p>“<em> Kriff </em>, you’re killing me, kid.” She groans above you. You roll onto your back – even that’s a struggle with how twisted you are in the sheets. You stretch your muscles, extend your limbs until they burn, and push the heels of your palms into your eyes until you see spots. Kes speaks again, her usual melodic voice taking on an edge. “Dendi’s gonna have both our necks if you don’t get up right now.”</p><p>Your hands cease their movements. You’re more awake now, more aware of your surroundings. You pull away from your face and blink up at Kes. Something drops in your gut. “What time is it?”</p><p>Kes’s big black eyes flick to the small, digital chrono you both share. “Nearly 0900 hours,” she says through pursed lips.</p><p>Your face falls slack. Time seems to slow, but you know that’s not the case. “<em> Kark </em>.” You leave your bunk in a whirlwind, sheets so twisted around your legs that you stumble and fall to the ground in a yelping heap. Your sleep shirt, far too big for you, billows around your body as you strive to untangle yourself.</p><p>Kes watches you with an unamused look and a cocked hip, antennae twitching. “Need some help?”</p><p>“No,” you reply, out of breath, finally free of your bedding, falling over yourself as you scramble to get dressed. You grab the first pair of pants you see, the leg of them sticking out of the old chest at the end of your bed. You get one foot through before you lose your balance again and fall onto your bed, limbs flailing. “Shit. Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”</p><p>Kes scoffs at you. “I <em> did </em> , laserbrain. Before I hopped in the fresher I told you to get up.” She watches you struggle with your shirt now, stripping it over your head without a care that she’s looking. You two are far past those pleasantries. “You mumbled something that I <em> thought </em>was an affirmative. Guess I was wrong.”</p><p>A loose, airy shirt falls over your torso, and you tuck it into your pants. You shoot her a halfhearted glare. “Now why would you think that?”</p><p>She shrugs. “You’re not usually a heavy sleeper.” Then, after a moment: “Sure seems like you were having some good dreams, though.”</p><p>Your face burns at the observation. The one you were having before she woke you up is still fresh and vivid in your mind. You pull your boots on and forgo a reply, opting instead to swerve around her to your shared fresher so you can brush your teeth.</p><p>You pretend not to see her in the dingy, cracked mirror. She leans against the sandstone doorway with a smirk. “Care to share with the class?”</p><p>You spit cleaning paste into the skin and avoid her eyes. “No.”</p><p>Kes laughs, any annoyance with your tardiness vanished with the tinkling sound. With a wipe to your mouth, you step around her again to grab your personal tool kit from the corner of the room. In three long strides, you’re starting up the staircase in a hurry, taking the steps two at a time.</p><p>Kes is right at your heels. “You <em> sure </em>you don’t wanna talk about it?” she asks, out of breath as she keeps up with your pace. “Y’seem pretty worked up.”</p><p>You chance a look over your shoulder, and <em> of course </em> she’s smirking at you, white stars dancing in her mischievous eyes. You return your gaze forward as you reach the landing. “Maybe later.</p><p>****</p><p>There’s no way time can move this slow.</p><p>The suns peaked in the sky a while ago and now their rays hit the planet with unforgiving afternoon heat. You’re slicked in sweat – nothing new, of course, but today the high temperature makes your limbs ache and your mind fog and the minutes tick by slower than a wounded bantha. You stretch your fingers, knuckles stiff from gripping your wrench. Your knees crackle as you stand and you wince at the sound, far too aged and ancient for your young body. Leaning against one of the tool cabinets, you survey the wide open space, eyes losing focus as your mind wanders.</p><p>It’s been about sixteen hours since Boba left you in his quarters, dripping on his divan, weak-limbed and near delirious from the way he pulled not one, but two orgasms out of you, back to back. It had taken you an embarrassing amount of time to find the strength to gather yourself, and when you finally did stand on shaky legs and put your pants and underwear back on, a wet spot was left on the divan in your wake. Heat rose in your cheeks at the sight, and you’d grabbed a tattered square pillow that had fallen on the floor, fumbling with it until it covered the spot.</p><p>You don’t know how you stumbled back to your room, but you did. Kes was already sleeping, facing the wall with her back to you, and you slipped out of your clothes into a night shirt as quietly as you could and fell into bed, asleep before your head hit the pillow. You were beyond exhausted.</p><p>But now you’re here, doing monotonous, handyman work around the hangar, like fixing the leaky sink in the back and rewiring the doors that lead out of the space so they open and close more smoothly. Your big project of the day is done – a speeder bike Fennec brought back all bent out of shape from colliding with a fleeing bounty – and you feel a bit useless as Kes and Dendi work diligently. You bite your lip and tap your fingers against the metal of the cabinet.</p><p>Like a thrown boomerang, your thoughts keep coming back to Boba. Now that you’ve had a taste of his touch there’s nothing you want more. You crave the rough intimacy of your time together, not just for the feel of his body but for the attention he bestows upon you; his time is so often consumed with underworld dealings, as it should be. But during your trysts, your <em> lessons </em>...it’s like you’re the only being in the galaxy he can fixate on.</p><p>You bloom under his attention like a desert flower. You want to make him bloom, too.</p><p>Though your previous <em> escapades </em> may be limited, there are a few things you have done. Not many, and those experiences are all pretty basic. But you can’t help but think…would Boba let you show him what you know? Even if you’re not particularly skilled?</p><p>Maybe he can help you improve.</p><p>Your head, dusty with sand and an oil slick over your eyebrow, pops up next to Kes as she sits at her workstation. Thick goggles protect her sensitive eyes as she slowly lowers her soldering iron to a circuit board, prepared to weld a wire in place.</p><p>“I have another question.”</p><p>The Rodian jumps, nearly drops the tool in her surprise. Her head swivels to yours and she pushes her goggles up to her forehead. She gives you an incredulous look. “Kid, are you insane?” She holds her tool up so it’s level with your face. “I could have zapped us both!”</p><p>“Sorry,” you reply, but the apology isn’t very solid. “I have another question. About our conversation yesterday.”</p><p>Kes side-eyes you but gets back to work, tugging her goggles back down as the flash of white light illuminates her emerald skin. You shield your face with a hand, blinking away spots at the harsh light. “Don’t idle there, at least pretend like you’re working.” She chances a glance over her shoulder and you match her eyeline – Dendi is organizing supply crates at the other end of the hangar, golden lekku covered in their signature netting. Kes nudges a power converter to you with her elbow. “I need these bolts loosened.”</p><p>You grab the contraption and begin, pulling a spare stool to you with the toe of your boot. Kes keeps her voice low. “What’s your question?”</p><p>Any embarrassment you might have had a week ago is long gone, your desire strong enough to overtake it. “How can I make sure I’m good at giving a guy head?”</p><p>You don’t mean to be blunt. But you need Kes’s wisdom, now more than ever.</p><p>She pauses her work for a beat or two, hands stilling, but then she’s right back at it and you cover your eyes this time before she welds another wire. “Where is this coming from?” And then: “Wait, is this what your dream was about?”</p><p>You blink. And blink again. “Yes.” It’s an easy lie.</p><p>“Knew it,” she says under her breath, a smirk playing on her lips. “Well, you’re probably not going to be the best the first time you try —“</p><p>“I’ve done it before,” you cut her off, and she looks up at you. “Twice. It was…okay. But I still want to be good at it.”</p><p>Kes sits back in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest. She has a funny sort of smile on her face. “Would you look at that. Our gearhead isn't so inexperienced after all.” Your cheeks heat at her words. A small grin grows across your lips when Kes gives you a teasing kick under the workbench. She leans in, her soldering iron limp in her fingers. “Okay, here’s my advice.”</p><p>And she’s off, a willing encyclopedia of carnal knowledge, giving readily and with enthusiasm. Grip it more firmly than you think you need to. Don’t be afraid to use your hands if it can’t all fit in your mouth. Focus on the head, it’s the most sensitive part. Use your tongue. Be careful of teeth. Don’t let your eyes get too big for your stomach unless you want to choke – “Some people are into that, though,” she says thoughtfully. Her black eyes flick her eyes over to you.</p><p>You huff an embarrassed laugh. “That happened last time.” Your face pinches at the memory. “It wasn’t…great.”</p><p>She gives a dismissive wave of her hand. “No biggie. Now, where was I…”</p><p>Give some attention to his balls, if he’s into it. Look up at him while he’s in your mouth, he’ll go crazy. And most importantly —</p><p>“Don’t overthink it,” Kes stresses, eyes wide. “Don’t get wrapped up in your own head trying to make sure you’re good, or else it won’t be for either person involved.”</p><p>You nod, serious, filing away all her bits and pieces of advice. While <em> don’t overthink it </em> is the simplest instruction, you know it will prove to be the hardest for you to follow. All you <em> do </em> is overthink, it seems.</p><p>There’s a <em> clang </em> from across the room, and you and Kes both start, dropping the tools you hold. You crane your neck to look over her shoulder – a supply crate lays on its side, the contents spilling out across the stone floor in glittering steel.</p><p>Next to the fallen crate, Dendi swears. Their gaze zeroes in on you and Kes, lekku swishing around their head. “Hey kid,” they call to you, tone hard in their annoyance. “Instead of gabbing, you mind giving me a hand?”</p><p>You hop off your stool and push the power converter back to Kes. “Thanks,” you tell her, sincere, quiet.</p><p>The Rodian gives you a strange look but smiles anyway. “Anytime, kid.”</p><p>****</p><p>With a single knock, Boba’s door slides open. He’s not sitting at the desk this time, and you don’t see him as you step over there threshold until your eyes survey over the space. He’s standing in the corner of the foyer, bent over the old crate he’d brought in last night. You can’t tell what’s inside, but you don’t have time to wonder because he’s straightening his spine and turning to you.</p><p>His helmet is off again, dark eyes raking over your form. “Back again, I see. And so soon.” He strolls over to you, wide gait leading him with strong strides. “What shall I teach you tonight, girl?”</p><p>This time is different, you can tell. There’s nothing changed about Boba, but about <em> you. </em>Your desire swells within you to the point where the feeling bleeds into a confidence you don’t feel very often. Your gaze is steady as he crosses the room to you, and even as he crowds your space you fight the timid nature that wants to take over. “Hi,” you greet in a soft voice. “How did you know it was me?” You gesture to the door behind you, swishing shut.</p><p>“I have a sense about these things.” His big hand reaches to lift your chin with crooked fingers. You quirk a brow. “I saw you on my security holo, little one.” He catches your gaze, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not the same nervous little thing that visited me last night,” he observes. So, it’s noticeable. “What brought this on, hmm?”</p><p>“I want to…” You reach out toward his groin, covered by thick, black robes. Your fingers twitch with the itch to feel him. There’s no point in parsing words or playing coy. You swallow the lump in your throat and get right to the point. “I want to make you feel good. Like how you make me feel. I want to use my mouth on you.”</p><p>Boba’s face betrays nothing – he might as well be wearing his helmet with how stony his expression is as he looks at you. His lips are pursed, jaw set tight, dark eyes flicking over your face. “Have you ever sucked a man’s cock before, little one?”</p><p>You let out a breath. Boba never beats around the bush when it comes to these things, and his vulgar phrasing excites you. “A few times,” you answer honestly, face an open book for him to read. Your face twists into a grimace. “I was never very good at it, I don’t think.” You shake your head and you rush out the next sentence. “But I want to try. Try to be better. For you.”</p><p>His hand comes to cup your cheek, thumb running over your soft skin. Boba continues to surprise you with how gentle his touches can be despite the immense power that lay in his corded muscles, strong with practice and age. His face is still impassive but his touch reveals secrets that won’t show themselves in his dark eyes. “You don’t have to try to be anything for me, <em> ad’ika </em>,” he says, the last word pleasing your ear. Boba’s voice is gruff and you want to wrap yourself in it. “I’ve told you once before, this is not a transactional deal.”</p><p>You think he’s going to tell you no, tell you to stop being a stupid little girl who thinks in such simple terms, so you cut him off with an edge to your voice. “I know,” you say, words tumbling from your lips. “I know that, but I —” Your outstretched hand hovers between your body and his. You can’t seem to get it to complete its journey, not without his permission. You force yourself to meet his eyes. “I want to. And I’ve never really wanted to before, but I do this time.” You hope he can see how serious you are about this, how you’re stepping over the bubbling anxiety rising in your throat. “Because it’s you.”</p><p>There’s a beat of silence, and the tension in the room could be cut with a dull knife. It’s like a wall of glass is between your bodies and you’re waiting to see which of you shatters it first. You hope it’s him. You don’t know if you have the courage to do so.</p><p>Boba’s expression flickers for the first time tonight. One of his brows quirks up, minutely, as he studies you. The fingers splayed over the side of your face squeeze, a barely there pressure, then he takes his hand away. “I’m not looking to force you into action,” he grumbles. His large hand snakes down to grasp your wrist, thick fingers wrapping around entirely. “But if you’re really so eager...” He pulls you to him and your fingertips brush over his black robes, the material thick and rough. And then closer still, his own hand drawing yours in until you feel his member beneath your palm, thick and heavy and bigger than you expected, and your fingers tighten on their own so you find the ghost of his outline.</p><p>You let out a breath you didn’t know you were harboring in your throat. Your eyes flick up from where you grasp him to look at his scarred face. A smirk plays on his lips. Boba’s voice is low, <em> so </em> low, deeper than the remains of ancient creatures buried beneath the earth, remnants of a time when this planet was covered in an ocean of water instead of sand. When he speaks, the sound rumbles through your being straight to your core. “Who am I to deny you the pleasure of another lesson?”</p><p>He moves your hand from his crotch to grasp your fingers in his and he leads you into his bedroom. You pass the divan you sat on last night – the wet spot is gone. Did he clean it? Or have someone else take care of it? The image of Boba standing over an attendant as they dry the rough fabric of the seat is enough to make you bite your lips to keep a grin from blooming.</p><p>Boba sits on the end of his bed, his beefy thighs spread enough for you to stand between them. He throws a pillow from the bed onto the stone floor between his feet. “Go on,” he says with a hand on your shoulder gently pushing you to the ground. His other hand is working on the fastening of his pants, and by the time you settle yourself on the pillow he’s freed himself of his clothes, member presented inches from your face.</p><p>Your eyes widen. He’s <em> big </em> . So much bigger than you thought, but you really shouldn’t be so surprised – everything about Boba is big, broad, and thick. You know you won’t be able to fit all of him in your mouth, there’s no way. His cock is hard already, flushed a rosy brown, thick, veiny, and the tip shines with a bead of precum. Your mind is reeling, trying to figure out how you’re going to accomplish this, how to make sure you’re good enough for him. The last time you gave a blowjob was on your <em> Bestine boy, </em>and he was barely half the size of Boba.</p><p>“See something you like, girl?” You glance up at him through your lashes and he’s smirking. “Don’t be nervous. Go ahead and touch me.”</p><p>You bring a hesitant hand up and grasp him, fingers unable to meet around his girth. His skin is so velvety here, soft, but he’s still so <em> hard </em>. You were right, he is heavy and hot in your hand. Your mouth is watering and you give him an experimental tug.</p><p>“Lick you hand,” he says, voice impassive. “Get it nice and wet.” You follow the direction eagerly, flattening your tongue against your palm. You grasp him again and your hands glides easier along his shaft. “That’s it, little one.” His own hand covers your own as he shows you how he likes it – he tightens his grip, and in the back of your mind Kes’s own advice echos there. <em> Grip it more firmly than you think you need to </em>. You apply the pressure and Boba lets go of your hand. “Just like that.”</p><p>You spend a minute or so working him with your hands, the other quickly coming to grasp him so you can cover his full length. You hear the harsh exhales through his nose, and you glance up to see his nostrils flare. All the while you’ve been leaning closer to his cock, licking your lips, eager to taste him.</p><p>He must tell you’re ready for the next step. “Take me in your mouth, princess. Wrap those pretty lips around me.”</p><p>You do as he says. Of course you do.</p><p>You have to open wide to fit him in, and he’s so hot and heavy against your tongue. Your past experiences with this skill flood your memory and you do what worked last time. You swirl your tongue around his head, use the versatile muscle to massage the underside of his shaft – the part you can reach, at least. Your eyes flutter close as you move on muscle memory, taking him deeper, sucking on him, keeping your jaw open so wide it strains. You sink down on him, lost in the feeling of his thick shaft in your mouth, of the low, pleased hum the reverberates in his broad chest. You take more of him, thinking you can get him past the point of no return, willing your body to relax, until —</p><p>His cock hits the back of your mouth and you gag, head reeling back, throat spasming. You can’t help but pull off him to catch your breath. Shame tingles on your skin as you look up at him. <em> Don’t let your eyes get too big for your stomach. </em> “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”</p><p>“Don’t do that,” he says, somehow still able to be stern even when you can tell he’s enjoying himself. “Quit apologizing to me.” He cradles your head, fingers splayed over the back of your skull. “Try again. Don’t be afraid to use your hands like before.” A playful lilt enters his voice. “I know I’m bigger than most, girl. I don’t expect you to get it all on the first try.”</p><p>You do try again, kissing the flushed, swollen head, running your tongue along the underside of his cock to wet it. When you envelope him with your mouth this time, both hands help you pump him. You have to stop yourself from taking too much, from going too far, but you don’t want to choke again. Boba is mostly quiet above you save for those deep hums, but when you glance up he’s already staring down at you, watching you intently. The heat of his gaze spurs you on and you utilize your tongue to your advantage. You bob on him for a few minutes, hands working in tandem, and you begin to notice his grip tightening on your head.</p><p>His cock twitches in your mouth as you suck on the delicate tip, tongue swirling around it, tasting his precum. His large hand cradles the crown of your head and you look up at him, open your eyes wide, and take as much of him into your hot, wet mouth as you can without gagging. Your hands slip up and down the rest of his shaft, twisting, pulling, doing everything in your power to make him come undone.</p><p>Boba groans long and loud above you. His hips just barely jut into your mouth. “Keep going like that, <em> mesh’la </em>, and I’ll come down your throat.” His face is twisted into a look of intense concentration. “You want that? You want to swallow all the hot cum I have to give you?”</p><p>You’ve never wanted to finish like this before. But now, with him seated in your mouth, his cock jerking involuntarily against your tongue, you’re more than willing to try your best. Anything for him. Anything to make him feel good.</p><p>You hum around him in the affirmative, finding that low octave that rumbles through your rib cage. Boba’s lips pull into a tight line as he watches you, <em> studies </em> you, unable to part his gaze from your kneeling form. Your own eyes close of their own accord as you work him the best way you know how. One of your pumping hands leaves his shaft and your fingers trail along the delicate skin of his groin until you’re cupping his balls in your palm. Your nails gently graze over the thin, wrinkled skin.</p><p>Above you, the groan Boba lets out is positively <em> wanton </em>.</p><p>His orgasm hits you unexpectedly and you jolt as you feel him spurt into your mouth, hot, salty ropes of cum spilling on your tongue and hitting the back of your throat. The taste is not unpleasant but it’s foreign, tangy. Boba is still moaning above you, his hand firm against your skull, using just a bit of pressure to push you closer. And you want to be closer, to be good enough to take it all, but his release is filling your mouth faster than you can swallow it and on instinct, you pull back and let him leave your mouth completely.</p><p>Your eyes flinch closed as he spurts across your face, sticky ropes spider webbing across your cheeks, your chin, down your neck. A part of you burns with humiliation at your inability to complete the task at hand, not to mention how crude you must look, a sight straight out of every man’s fantasy. Shame simmers high in your throat, and it’s only after you feel that he’s stopped spilling on you that you blink open your eyes and look up at him, your mouth ajar.</p><p>Boba is looking down at you, his wide chest heaving like he’s trying to catch his breath. His eyes are dark, expression stony, and you’re <em> sure </em> he’s disappointed in you, this naive little girl who can’t even finish the job, who lacks the skill to bring him the same pleasure he brings you. You speak before you can stop yourself. “I’m sorry,” you say, lamely, and the apology limps from your lips. “I didn’t mean…I wanted to take it all, but—“</p><p>You’re cut off by a large hand smoothing down your hair. Boba’s eyes are dark, his brows pinched in the middle. The hand cradling your head skims down to your face. His thumb smears the white release painted there across the soft apple of your cheek, and the voice that leaves him is strained, guttural, and it penetrates you down to your bones. “You look so fucking gorgeous like this.”</p><p>Your eyes widen at the praise and you suck in a breath. The thumb caressing your cheek moves to your chin and he swipes up some of his release that’s dribbling from the corner of your mouth. “So divine, covered in my cum.” He pushes the digit into your mouth and you taste him on the calloused pad of his thumb. You suck on it, lightly, and you find that you really don’t mind the salty tang of him – in fact, you covet it, like an exotic fruit that he’s been saving just or you. Boba’s gaze bores into you, hot and heavy and carnal. “A thousand galaxies couldn’t touch you right now, <em> mesh’la </em>.”</p><p>The foreign word drapes over you like the finest Alderaanian silk. You don’t know what it means, but you want him to say it again. And again, and again, until his tongue tires from forming the syllable.</p><p>You blink up at Boba as you bask in his adoration. With strong hands on your arms, he pulls you up until you’re standing between his knees. He grabs a cloth that sits beside him on the bed and begins to wipe your face of his release and your eyes drift closed under the pleasant pressure. He’s mumbling things under his breath – you can’t catch it all, but you do hear this: “Don’t worry, princess. We’ll practice until you can take me all the way down your throat.” Heat rises up your neck at the promise.</p><p>Once he’s done cleaning you up he tucks himself back into his pants and stands too, maneuvering you to take his place on the edge of the bed. The cloth is thrown into the corner of the room for a later disposal. Boba runs his hands up and down your clothed thighs. “Since I made a mess of you, girl,” he begins, a smirk playing on his lips, “I think it’s only fair you return the favor in kind.”</p><p>You stare at him. His words come back to echo in your mind. <em> This isn’t a transactional deal </em>. “You don’t have to—“</p><p>“I don’t <em> have </em> to do anything,” he interrupts, gravel in his voice. This moment is an echo of how you propositioned him earlier. “But I saw how your thighs moved while you sucked me off. I know you must be a bit uncomfortable, sitting in your own slick.” On instinct, your thighs clench together at his words, and you <em> know </em>he notices. His fingers are already unknotting the tie of your pants and tugging at the waistband. “Let me take care of you, smart girl. You know I always do.”</p><p><em> Smart girl </em>. That’s new, and you revel in it. And he’s right, of course – he takes care of you in ways you don’t even know you need. You give him a small nod. “Alright.”</p><p>It’s like that’s all he needs to go half-feral, because he pulls down your pants and panties in one jerk, the force of it knocking you onto your back. He makes short work of your boots and in no time both are thrown to the side along with your bottoms, and you’re bare to him yet again, like you so often find yourself these days. He looks at you, hungry, ravenous, and his hands find your wet cunt before you really know what’s happening.</p><p>You lean back into the duvet as he gropes you, works his thick fingers between your blooming folds. He circles your clit hard and the pressure makes you jolt. This is different that the last two times he’s taken you with his fingers – there’s more ferocity behind his movements, his intentions unmistakable, unrestrained. He’s pulling out all the stops and playing you with immense skill and practice like he’s had years to learn your body, what makes you whine, writhe, jerk under his touch. It’s the strongest gateway drug and you’re addicted. You never want to chance another.</p><p>He enters you with two fingers and though you’re tight, there’s hardly any resistance because of how aroused you are. “So wet,” he observes as he pumps into you, using his thumb to massage your clit. “So <em> hot </em> . Your pussy just can’t get enough of me, can she?” He works a third finger into you and your back arches off the bed. He skips right past the slow, soothing thrusts he began with before and moves at a ferocious pace, crooking his fingers to hit that spongy spot right inside you. You flutter around him, slick coating his hand and your inner thighs with how hard he’s working you. You can <em> hear </em> the way his fingers move through you, obscene squelching sounds filling the room. Embarrassment tickles along your nerves but the pleasure Boba’s giving you is distracting enough.</p><p>But Boba doesn’t want you to be distracted. He <em> wants </em> you to hear. “Listen to your cunt talk back to me.” You moan, your hands come up to cover your flushed face. “She has a lot to say tonight. What a <em> naughty </em> little thing.” With one hand occupied within you, his other starts to really work your clit, pinching it, massaging it, finding it under its puffy hood. Your hips jerk off the bed as you meet the thrusts of his fingers. Boba’s still talking, filthy promises falling from his lips like the sweetest honey. “ <em> I might just have to punish her. </em>”</p><p>You’re wound so tight. You can hardly stand it, the way he knows just how to bring you to the edge in no time at all. He keeps up the brutal pace and now instead of thrusting, he’s focusing solely on that rough spot inside you that makes you lose all sense of reality. Your eyes roll back into your skull and you feel so tight, so wet, and a certain, indescribable sensation you’ve never quite felt before. Boba’s gruff voice breaks through your euphoria. “You think we can get you to make a mess of me?” he asks, and you’re not entirely sure what he’s referencing but you groan low in your chest. Anything to keep him right where he is. He huffs a laugh. “I think we can, smart girl. I’ll wrench it out of you if I have to.”</p><p>You’ll let him do anything to you. Mold you into whatever shape he desires. Just so long as he <em> doesn’t. Stop </em>.</p><p>Boba knows just what to say to get you there, his voice raw, wicked, so low. “Come on, princess. Come for me. <em> Drench </em> me in it.”</p><p>You don’t know what’s happening. You don’t know if you’re even alive anymore, all sense of time and space vanishing around you as you come, hard, harder than you have before in your life, and everything is so hot and tight and tingly and you think maybe, <em> maybe </em>you’ve really died this time.</p><p>What is it the poets call it? <em> Little death </em>. You now know exactly what they mean.</p><p>You’re convulsing, heels pushing your entire lower half up off the bed from the power ripping through your body. You shout, curse, throat quickly growing raw from your volume. The duvet beneath you is clenched in tight fists on reflex, like you’re trying to stay on this plane of existence and not drift off into the abyss.</p><p>Above the din and cacophony of your orgasm, you hear Boba let out something like a laugh. But it’s not in amusement. No, it’s in <em> triumph. </em></p><p>“<b> <em>Yes</em> </b>,” he growls, stretching out the vowel. “Yes, girl. That’s it. That’s how my smart girl comes.”</p><p>It feels like hours but you know it’s only a handful of seconds until you fall back onto the bed, limp, spent, feeling like you’ve been dragged to hell and back. Aftershocks wrack your body, muscles twitching in the wake of your insane high. You struggle to keep your eyes open to stare up at the ceiling.</p><p>Boba slips his fingers from you and you yelp, hips jerking at the unpleasant emptiness you now feel. But you feel something else, too – you feel wet. So wet. <em> Soaked </em>, even, far more than your previous times with the fearsome bounty hunter. You’re laying in it, the duvet beneath you sodden. Brows pinched, your head lolls unto your shoulder so you can look down your body to where Boba still stands between your legs.</p><p>A large wet spot stains his abdomen, visible on his dark robes. There’s even some wetness glistening on his chest plate, dripping down the deep green beskar. Your cheeks flush, bitter embarrassment burning hot in your gut, and you try to prop yourself up on your elbows but you’re too weak and you fall back onto the bed. You didn’t think it was possible. You’ve <em> never </em> been able to do that before. “Oh, gods,” you mutter, voice croaky. “Oh, fucking <em> kark </em>.”</p><p>Boba’s giving you a devilish smirk, lips quirked up to reveal his white teeth. He holds his hand, gleaming with your release, up to his face like he’s inspecting it. “Squirted all over me, smart girl,” he says, not parsing his words. “Never done that before, have you?”</p><p>You balk at him, eyes so wide you’re scared they might pop right out of their sockets. You give your head a weak shake. “No.”</p><p>“Didn’t think so.” He takes his fingers into his mouth and moans around them. You let out a whine as you watch him suck off your juices, and he pulls them from his lips with a <em> pop </em>. “Might be your first time, but don’t fret, princess – it won’t be the last.”</p><p>You have no words to give him. You couldn’t come up with any if you tried.</p><p>Boba gives your thigh a light slap and a soft caress, and nods his head to a small doorway across the bedroom. “Use my fresher to get yourself cleaned up,” he instructs. “Unless you want to walk around with evidence of the crime all over you, that is.” It’s a joke. Boba’s <em> joking </em>with you. It’s a strange sort of intimacy you don’t expect from him, but it’s so welcome after the previous times he’s been all business after he’s wrecked you.</p><p>You want him to stay. Just for a little while. So you can convince yourself there’s more to these <em> lessons </em> than the physicality on the surface.</p><p>Before he can walk too far, your foot hooks around his calf. He stops, gives you a look with the quirk of his brow, lips pursed, face almost returned to that stony visage he can’t seem to break out of. “Can’t you stay with me?” you ask, quiet. You swallow your anxiety. “Please?”</p><p>If you weren’t staring up at him, eyes flicking across his features for some sort of sign, you might have missed the way his hard expression shows the first signs of crumbling. His tight lips loosen into the ghost of something akin to a smile. “Next time, <em> mesh’la. </em>” There’s that word again, uncharacteristically saccharine as it leaves him. His big hand finds your thigh again, the rough pads of his fingers skimming across your skin. “My empire can’t run itself. I’m a busy man. But I’ll find some time for you soon.”</p><p>He struts out of the room, leaving you to the cool air of evening. You blink up at the ceiling, and a thought crosses your addled mind.</p><p>He didn’t change out of his wet robes. Didn’t even wipe off his armor.</p><p>A lazy smile blooms on your face. Seems <em> he </em> wants to keep the evidence on him. Good.</p>
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